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CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE. 

A  Tale  of  Truth. 


CHAPTER  T. 

A  BOARDING-SCHOOL. 

"Are  you  for  a  walk?  "  said  Montra- 
ville  to  his  companion,  as  they  arose 
from  table;  "  are  you  for  a  walk,  or  shall 
Ave  order  a  chaise  and  proceed  to  Ports- 
mouth?" Belcour  preferred  the  form- 
er; and  they  sauntered  out  to  view  the 
town  and  to  make  remarks  on  the  in- 
habitants as  they  returned  from  church. 

Montraville  was  a  lieutenant  in  the 
army;  Belcour  was  his  brother  officer; 
they  had  been  to  take  leave  of  their 
friends  previous  to  their  departure  for 
America,  and  were  now  returning  to 
Portsmouth,  where  the  troops  waited  or- 

5 


6 


Charlotte  Temple. 


ders  for  embarkation.  They  had  stopped 
at  Chicester  to  dine;  and  knowing  they 
had  sufficient  time  to  reach  the  place  of 
destination  before  dark,  and  vet  allow 
them  a  walk,  had  resolved,  it  being  Sun- 
day afternoon,  to  take  a  survey  of  the 
Chichester  ladies  as  they  returned  from 
their  devotions. 

They  had  gratified  their  curiosity,  and 
were  preparing  to  return  to  the  inn  with- 
out honoring  any  of  the  belles  with  par- 
ticular attention,  when  Madame  Du 
Pont,  at  the  head  of  her  school,  descend- 
ed from  the  church.  Such  an  assem- 
blage of  youth  and  innocence  naturally 
attracted  the  young  soldiers;  they 
stopped;  and  as  the  little  cavalcade 
passed  almost  involuntarily  pulled  off 
their  hats.  A  tall,  elegant  girl  looked 
at  Montraville  and  blushed;  he  instantly 
recollected  the  features  of  Charlotte 
Temple,  whom  he  had  once  seen  and 
danced  with  at  a  ball  at  Portsmouth.  At 


Charlotte  Temple. 


7 


the  time  he  thought  her  a  very  lovely 
child,  she  being  then  only  thirteen;  but 
the  improvement  two  years  had  made  in 
her  person,  and  the  blush  of  recollection 
which  suffused  her  cheeks  as  she  passed, 
awakened  in  his  bosom  new  and  pleas- 
ing ideas.  Vanity  led  him  to  think  that 
pleasure  at  again  beholding  him  might 
have  occasioned  the  emotion  he  had  wit- 
nessed; and  the  same  vanity  led  him  to 
wish  to  see  her  again. 

"  She  is  the  sweetest  girl  in  the 
world,"  said  he,  as  he  entered  the  inn. 
Belcour  started.  "  Did  you  not  notice 
her?"  continued  Montraville.  "She 
had  on  a  blue  bonnet,  and  with  a  pair  of 
lovely  eyes  of  the  same  color,  has  con- 
trived to  make  me  feel  devilish  odd 
about  the  heart." 

"Pooh!"  said  Belcour;  "a  musket- 
ball  from  our  friends,  the  Americans, 
may,  in  less  than  two  months  make  you 
feel  worse." 


8 


Charlotte  Temple. 


u  I  never  think  of  the  future,"  replied 
Montraville,  "  but  am  determined  to 
make  the  most  of  the  present,  and  would 
willingly  compound  with  any  kind  Fa- 
miliar who  would  inform  me  who  the 
girl  is  and  how  I  might  be  likely  to  ob- 
tain an  interview." 

But  no  kind  Familiar  at  that  time  ap- 
peared, and  the  chaise  which  they  had 
ordered  driving  up  to  the  door,  Montra- 
ville and  his  companion  were  obliged  to 
take  leave  of  Chichester  and  its  fair  in- 
habitant and  proceed  on  their  journey. 

But  Charlotte  had  made  too  great  an 
impression  on  his  mind  to  be  easily  erad- 
icated ;  having,  therefore,  spent  three 
whole  days  in  thinking  of  her,  and  en- 
deavoring to  form  some  plan  of  seeing 
her,  he  determined  to  set  off  for  Chi- 
chester, and  trust  to  chance  either  to 
favor  or  frustrate  his  designs.  Arriv- 
ing at  the  verge  of  the  town,  he  dis- 
mounted, and  sending  the  servant  for- 


Charlotte  Temple. 


9 


ward  with  the  horses  proceeded  toward 
the  place,  where,  in  the  midst  of  an  ex- 
tensive pleasure-ground,  stood  the  man- 
sion which  contained  the  lovely  Char- 
lotte Temple.  Montraville  leaned  on  a 
broken  gate  and  looked  earnestly  at  the 
house.  The  wall  which  surrounded  it 
was  high,  and  perhaps  the  Arguses  who 
guarded  the  Hesperian  fruit  within  were 
more  watchful  than  those  famed  of  old. 

"  'Tis  a  romantic  attempt,"  said  he; 
u  and  should  I  even  succeed  in  seeing 
and  conversing  with  her,  it  can  be  pro- 
ductive of  no  good.  I  must  of  necessity 
leave  England  in  a  few  days,  and  prob- 
ably may  never  return;  why,  then, 
should  I  endeavor  to  engage  the  affec- 
tions of  this  lovely  girl,  only  to  leave  her 
a  prey  to  a  thousand  inquietudes  of 
which  at  present  she  has  no  idea  ?  I  will 
return  to  Portsmouth  and  think  no  more 
about  her." 

The  evening  was  now  closed;  a  serene 


10 


( !harlotte  Temple. 


stillness  reigned;  and  the  moon  with  lier 
silver  crescent  faintly  illuminated  the 
hemisphere. 

The  mind  of  Montraville  was  calmed 
by  the  serenity  of  the  surrounding  ob- 
jects. "  I  will  think  on  her  no  more," 
said  he,  and  turned  with  an  intention  to 
leave  the  place;  lut  as  he  turned  he  saw 
the  gate  which  led  to  the  pleasure- 
grounds  open  and  two  women  come  out, 
who  walked  arm  in  arm  across  the  field. 
"  I  will  at  least  see  who  these  are,"  said 
he. 

He  overtook  them,  and  after  saluting, 
begged  leave  to  see  them  into  the  more 
frequented  part  of  the  town;  but  howT 
was  he  delighted,  when,  waiting  for  an 
answer,  he  discovered,  under  the  con- 
cealment of  a  large  bonnet,  the  face  of 
Charlotte  Temple. 

He  soon  found  means  to  ingratiate 
himself  with  her  companion,  who  was  a 
French  teacher  at  the  school2  and  at 


Charlotte  Temple. 


1  1 


parting,  slipped  a  letter  he  had  purpose- 
ly written  into  Charlotte's  hand,  and 
five  guineas  into  that  of  mademoiselle, 
who  promised  she  wouM  endeavor  to 
bring  her  young  charge  into  the  field 
again  the  next  evening. 


CHAPTER  IT. 

DOMESTIC  CONCERNS. 

Mr.  Temple  was  the  youngest  son  of 
a  nobleman,  whose  fortune  was  by  no 
means  adequate  to  the  antiquity,  grand- 
eur, and,  I  may  add,  pride  of  the  family. 
He  saw  his  elder  brother  made  complete- 
ly wretched  by  marrying  a  disagreeable 
woman,  whose  fortune  helped  to  prop 
the  sinking  dignity  of  the  house;  and  he 
beheld  his  sisters  legally  prostituted  to 
old,  decrepit  men,  whose  titles  gave 


12 


( !harlotte  Temple. 


them  consequence  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  and  whose  affluence  rendered 
them  splendidly  miserable. 

"  I  will  not  sacrifice  internal  happiness 
for  outward  show,"  said  he;  "  I  will  seek 
content;  and  if  I  find  her  in  a  cottage, 
will  embrace  her  with  as  much  cordial- 
ity as  I  should  if  seated  on  a  throne." 

Mr.  Temple  possessed  a  small  estate 
of  about  five  hundred  pounds  a  year;  and 
with  that  he  resolved  to  preserve  inde- 
pendence, to  marry  where  the  feelings 
of  his  heart  should  direct  him,  and  to 
confine  his  expenses  within  the  limits  of 
his  income.  He  had  a  heart  open  to 
every  generous  feeling  of  humanity,  and 
a  hand  ready  to  dispense  to  those  who 
wanted,  part  of  the  blessings  he  enjoyed 
himself. 

As  he  was  universally  known  to  be  the 
friend  of  the  unfortunate,  his  advice  and 
bounty  were  frequently  solicited;  nor 
was  it  seldom  that  he  sought  out  indigent 


Charlotte  Temple. 


13 


merit,  and  raised  it  from  obscurity,  con- 
fining his  own  expenses  within  a  very 
narrow  compass. 

"  You  are  a  very  benevolent  fellow," 
said  a  young  officer  to  him  one  day; 
"  and  I  have  a  great  mind  to  give  you  a 
subject  to  exercise  the  goodness  of  your 
heart  upon." 

"  You  cannot  oblige  me  more,"  said 
Temple,  "  than  to  point  out  any  way  by 
which  I  can  be  serviceable  to  my  fellow 
creatures." 

"  Come  along,  then,"  said  the  young- 
man.  "  We  will  go  and  visit  a  man  who 
is  not  in  so  good  a  lodging  as  he  deserves ; 
and  were  it  not  that  he  has  an  angel  with 
him,  who  comforts  and  supports  him,  he 
must  long  since  have  sunk  under  his  mis- 
fortunes." 

The  young  man's  heart  was  too  full 
to  proceed;  and  Temple,  unwilling  to  ir- 
ritate his  feelings  by  making  further 
inquiries,  followed  him  in  silence  till 
they  arrived  at  the  Fleet  prison. 


1-t  Charlotte  Temple. 


The  officer  inquired  for  Captain  El- 
dridge.  A  person  led  them  up  several 
pairs  of  dirty  stairs,  and  pointing  to  a 
door  which  led  to  a  miserable,  small 
apartment,  said  that  was  the  captain's 
room,  and  retired. 

The  officer,  whose  name  was  Blake- 
ney,  tapped  at  the  door,  and  was  bidden 
to  enter  by  a  voice  melodiously  soft.  He 
opened  the  door  and  discovered  to  Tem- 
ple a  scene  which  riveted  him  to  the  spot 
with  astonishment. 

The  apartment,  though  small  and 
bearing  strong  marks  of  poverty,  was 
neat  in  the  extreme.  In  an  arm-chair, 
his  head  reclined  on  his  hand,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  a  book  which  lay  open  before 
him,  sat  an  aged  man  in  a  lieutenant^ 
uniform,  which,  though  threadbare, 
should  sooner  call  a  blush  of  shame  into 
the  face  of  those  who  could  neglect  real 
merit,  than  cause  the  hectic  of  confusion 
to  glow  on  the  cheeks  of  him  who  wore 
it. 


Charlotte  Temple. 


15 


Beside  him  sat  a  lovely  creature, 
busied  in  painting  a  fan  mount.  She 
was  fair  as  the  lily;  but  sorrow  had 
nipped  the  rose  in  her  cheek  before  it 
was  half  blown.  Her  eyes  were  blue, 
and  her  hair,  which  was  light  brown,  was 
slightly  confined  under  a  plain  muslin 
cap,  tied  around  with  a  black  ribbon;  a 
white  linen  gown  and  plain  lawn  hand- 
kerchief composed  the  remainder  of  her 
dress;  and  in  this  simple  attire  she  was 
more  irresistibly  charming  to  such  a 
heart  as  Temple's  than  she  would  have 
been  if  adorned  with  all  the  splendor  of 
a  courtly  belle. 

When  they  entered  the  old  man  arose 
from  his  seat,  and,  shaking  Blakeney  by 
the  hand  with  great  cordiality,  offered 
Temple  his  chair;  and  there  being  but 
three  in  the  room,  seated  himself  on  the 
side  of  his  little  bed  with  evident  com- 
posure. 

"  This  is  a  strange  place,"  S9id  he  to 


Charlotte  Temple. 


temple,  "  to  receive  visitors  of  distinc- 
tion in,  but  we  must  fit  our  feelings  to 
our  station.  While  I  am  not  ashamed 
to  own  the  cause  which  brought  me  here, 
why  should  I  blush  at  my  situation?  Our 
misfortunes  are  not  our  faults,  and  were 
it  not  for  that  poor  girl  " 

Here  the  philosopher  was  lost  in  the 
father.  He  arose  hastily  from  his  seat, 
walked  toward  the  window,  and  wiped 
off  a  tear  which  he  was  afraid  would 
tarnish  the  cheek  of  a  sailor. 

Temple  cast  his  eye  on  Miss  El- 
dridge;  a  pellucid  drop  had  stolen  from 
her  eye,  and  fallen  upon  a  rose  she  was 
painting.  It  blotted  and  discolored  the 
flower.  "  'Tis  emblematic,"  said  he, 
mentally;  "  the  rose  of  youth  and  health 
soon  fades  when  watered  by  the  tear  of 
affliction." 

"  My  friend  Blakeney,"  said  he,  ad- 
dressing the  old  man,  "  told  me  I  could 
be  of  service  to  you;  be  so  kind,  then, 


Charlotte  Temple. 


17 


dear  sir,  as  to  point  out  some  way  in 
which  I  can  relieve  the  anxiety  of  your 
heart  and  increase  the  pleasure  of  my 
own." 

"My  good  young  man,"  said  Eldridge, 
"  you  know  not  what  you  offer.  While 
deprived  of  my  liberty,  I  cannot  be  free 
from  anxiety  on  my  own  account,  but 
that  is  a  trifling  concern;  my  anxious 
thoughts  extend  to  one  more  dear  a 
thousand  times  than  life.  I  am  a  poor, 
weak  old  man,  and  must  expect  in  a  few 
years  to  sink  into  silence  and  oblivion, 
but  when  I  am  gone  who  will  protect 
that  fair  bud  of  innocence  from  the 
blasts  of  adversity,  or  from  the  cruel 
hand  of  insult  and  dishonor?  " 

"  Oh,  my  father  !  "  cried  Miss  El- 
dridge,  tenderly  taking  his  hand,  "  be 
not  anxious  on  that  account,  for  daily 
are  my  prayers  offered  to  Heaven  that 
our  lives  may  terminate  at  the  same  in- 
stant, and  one  grave  receive  us  both,  for 


18 


Charlotte  Temple. 


why  should  I  live  when  deprived  of  my 
only  friend?  " 

Temple  was  moved  even  to  tears. 
"  You  will  both  live  many  years  !  "  he 
said,  "  and,  I  hope,  see  much  happiness. 
Cheerily,  my  friend,  cheerily ;  these  pass- 
ing clouds  of  adversity  will  serve  only  to 
make  the  sunshine  of  prosperity  more 
pleasing.  But  we  are  losing  time;  you 
might,  ere  this,  have  told  me  who  were 
your  creditors,  what  were  their  demands, 
and  other  particulars  necessary  to  your 
liberation." 

"My  story  is  short,"  said  Mr.  El- 
dridge,  "  but  there  are  some  particulars 
which  will  wring  my  heart  barely  to  re- 
member, yet  to  one  whose  offers  of 
friendship  appear  so  open  and  disinter- 
ested, I  will  relate  every  circumstance 
that  led  to  my  present  painful  situation. 
But,  my  child,"  continued  he,  addressing 
his  daughter,  "  let  me  prevail  on  you  to 
take  this  opportunity,  while  my  friends 


Charlotte  Temple. 


19 


are  with  me,  to  enjoy  the  benefit  of  air 
and  exercise.  Go,  my  love;  leave  me 
now;  to-morrow,  at  the  usual  hour,  I  will 
expect  you." 

Miss  Eldridge  impressed  on  his  cheek 
the  kiss  of  filial  affection,  and  obeyed. 


CHAPTEE  III. 

UNEXPECTED  MISFORTUNES. 

"  My  life,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge,  "  till 
within  these  few  years,  was  marked  by 
no  particular  circumstance  deserving  no- 
tice. I  early  embraced  the  life  of  a 
sailor,  and  have  served  my  king  with  un- 
remitted ardor  for  many  years.  At  the 
age  of  twenty-five  I  married  an  amiable 
woman;  one  son  and  the  girl  who  just 
now  left  us  were  the  fruits  of  our  union. 
My  boy  had  genius  and  spirit.  I  strained 


20  Charlotte  Temple. 


my  little  income  to  give  him  a  liberal 
education;  but  the  rapid  progress  he 
made  in  his  studies  amply  compensated 
for  the  inconvenience.  At  the  academy 
where  he  received  his  education,  he  com- 
menced an  acquaintance  with  a  Mr. 
Lewis,  a  young  man  of  affluent  fortune; 
as  they  grew  up,  their  intimacy  ripened 
into  friendship,  and  they  became  almost 
inseparable  companions. 

"  George  chose  the  profession  of  a 
soldier.  I  had  neither  friends  nor  money 
to  procure  him  a  commission,  and  had 
washed  him  to  embrace  a  nautical  life, 
but  this  was  repugnant  to  his  wishes,  and 
I  ceased  to  urge  him  on  the  subject.  The 
friendship  existing  between  Lewis  and 
my  son  was  of  such  a  nature  as  gave  him 
free  access  to  our  family,  and  so  specious 
was  his  manner  that  we  hesitated  not  to 
state  to  him  all  our  little  difficulties  in 
regard  to  George's  future  views. 

"  He  listened  to  us  with  attention,  and 


Charlotte  Temple. 


21 


offered  to  advance  any  sum  necessary  for 
his  first  setting  out. 

"  I  embraced  the  offer,  and  gave  him 
my  note  for  the  payment  of  it;  but  he 
would  not  suffer  me  to  mention  any 
stipulated  time,  as  he  said  I  might  do  it 
whenever  most  convenient  to  myself. 

"About  this  time  my  dear  Lucy  re- 
turned from  school,  and  I  soon  began  to 
imagine  Lewis  looked  at  her  with  eyes  of 
affection.  I  gave  my  child  caution  to 
beware  of  him,  and  to  look  on  her  moth- 
er as  her  friend.  She  was  unaffectedly 
artless;  and  when,  as  I  suspected,  Lewis 
made  professions  of  love,  she  confided  in 
her  parents,  and  assured  us  that  her  heart 
was  perfectly  unbiased  in  his  favor,  and 
she  would  cheerfully  submit  to  our  di- 
rection. 

"  I  took  an  early  opportunity  of  ques- 
tioning him  concerning  his  intentions 
towrard  my  child;  he  gave  an  equivocal 
and    suspicious    answer — some  angry 


Charlotte  Temple. 


words  followed,  and  I  forbade  him  the 
house. 

"  The  next  day  he  sent  and  demanded 
payment  of  his  money.  It  was  not  in 
my  power  to  comply  with  the  demand. 
I  requested  three  days  to  endeavor  to 
raise  it,  determining  to  mortgage  my 
half-pay,  and  live  on  a  small  annuity 
which  my  wife  possessed,  rather  than  be 
under  any  obligation  to  so  worthless  a 
man;  but  this  short  time  was  not  allowed 
me,  for  that  evening,  as  I  was  sitting- 
down  to  supper,  unsuspicious  of  danger, 
an  officer  entered  and  tore  me  from  the 
embraces  of  my  family. 

"  My  wife  had  been  for  some  time  in 
a  declining  state  of  health;  ruin  at  once 
so  unexpected  and  inevitable  was  a 
stroke  she  was  not  prepared  to  bear;  and 
I  saw  her  faint  in  the  arms  of  our  ser- 
vant, as  I  left  my  own  habitation  for  the 
comfortless  walls  of  a  prison. 

"  My  poor  Lucy,  distracted  with  her 


Charlotte  Temple.  23 


fears  for  us  both,  sank  on  the  floor  and 
endeavored  to  retain  me  by  her  feeble  ef- 
forts, but  in  vain;  they  forced  her  to 
open  her  arms;  she  shrieked  and  fell 
prostrated — but  pardon  me — the  horrors 
of  that  night  unman  me.  I  cannot  pro- 
ceed." 

He  arose  from  his  seat  and  walked 
several  times  across  the  room;  at  length, 
attaining  more  composure,  he  cried : 

"  What  a  mere  infant  I  am !  Why, 
sir,  I  never  felt  thus  in  the  day  of  bat- 
tle." 

"Xo,"  said  Temple;  "but  the  truly 
brave  soldier  is  tremblingly  alive  to  the 
feelings  of  humanity." 

"  True,"  repled  the  old  man  (some- 
thing like  satisfaction  darting  across  his 
features),  "  and  painful  as  these  feelings 
are,  I  would  not  exchange  them  for  that 
torpor  which  the  stoic  mistakes  for  phil- 
osophy. How  many  exquisite  delights 
should  I  have  passed  by  unnoticed,  but 


24  Charlotte  Temple. 


for  these  keen  sensations,  this  quick 
sense  of  happiness  or  misery!  Then  let 
us,  my  friend,  take  the  cup  of  life  as  it 
is  presented  to  us,  tempered  by  the  hand 
of  a  wise  Providence;  be  thankful  for 
the  good,  be  patient  under  the  evil,  and 
presume  not  to  inquire  why  the  latter 
predominates." 

"  This  is  true  philosophy,"  said  Tem- 
ple. 

"  'Tis  the  only  way  to  reconcile  our- 
selves to  the  cross  events  of  life,"  replied 
he.  "  But  I  forgot  myself.  I  will  not 
longer  intrude  on  your  patience,  but  pro- 
ceed with  my  melancholy  tale. 

"  The  very  evening  that  I  was  taken 
to  prison,  my  son  arrived  from  Ireland, 
where  he  had  been  some  time  with  his 
regiment.  From  the  distracted  expres- 
sions of  his  mother  and  sister,  he  learned 
by  whom  I  had  been  arrested,  and,  late 
as  it  was,  flew  on  the  wings  of  wounded 
affection  to  the  house  of  his  false  friend, 


Charlotte  Temple.  25 


and  earnestly  inquired  the  cause  of  this 
cruel  conduct.  With  all  the  calmness 
of  a  cool,  deliberate  villain,  he  avowed 
his  passion  for  Lucy,  declared  her  situa- 
tion in  life  would  not  permit  him  to 
marry  her,  but  offered  to  release  me  im- 
mediately, and  make  any  settlement 
upon  her,  if  George  would  persuade  her 
to  live,  as  he  impiously  termed  it,  a  life 
of  honor. 

"  Fired  at  the  insult  offered  to  a  man 
and  a  soldier,  my  boy  struck  the  villain, 
and  a  challenge  ensued. 

"  He  then  went  to  a  coffee-house  in 
the  neighborhood,  and  wrote  a  long,  af- 
fectionate letter  to  me,  blaming  himself 
severely  for  having  introduced  Lewis 
into  the  family,  or  permitting  him  to  pay 
an  obligation  which  had  brought  in- 
evitable ruin  on  us  all.  He  begged  me, 
whatever  might  be  the  event  of  the  en- 
suing morning,  not  to  suffer  regret  or 
unavailing  sorrow  for  his  fate  to  increase 


26 


Charlotte  Temple. 


the  anguish  of  my  heart,  which  he  great- 
ly feared  was  already  insupportable. 

"  This  letter  was  delivered  to  me  early 
in  the  morning.  It  would  "be  vain  to  at- 
tempt to  describe  my  feelings  on  the 
perusal  of  it ;  suffice  it  to  say,  that  a  mer- 
ciful Providence  interposed,  and  I  was 
for  three  weeks  insensible-  to  miseries  al- 
most beyond  the  strength  of  human 
nature  to  support. 

"A  fever  and  strong  delirium  seized 
me,  and  my  life  was  despaired  of. 

"At  length  nature,  overpowered  with 
fatigue,  gave  way  to  the  salutary  power 
of  rest,  and  a  quiet  slumber  of  some 
hours  restored  me  to  reason,  though  the 
extreme  weakness  of  my  frame  pre- 
vented my  feeling  my  distress  so  acutely 
as  I  otherwise  should. 

"  The  first  object  that  struck  me  on 
awakening  was  Lucy  sitting  by  my  bed- 
side; her  pale  countenance  and  dress  pre- 
vented my  inquiries  for  poor  George;  for 


Charlotte  Temple. 


27 


the  letter  I  had  received  from  him  was 
the  first  thing  that  occurred  to  my  mem- 
ory. By  degrees  the  rest  returned;  I 
recollected  being  arrested,  but  could  in 
no  way  account  for  being  in  this  apart- 
ment, whither  they  had  conveyed  me 
during  my  illness. 

"  I  was  so  weak  as  to  be  almost  unable 
to  speak;  I  pressed  Lucy's  hand,  and 
looked  earnestly  around  the  apartment 
in  search  of  another  dear  object. 

"  '  Where  is  your  mother  ? '  said  I, 
faintly. 

"  The  poor  girl  could  not  answer !  She 
shook  her  head  in  expressive  silence,  and 
throwing  herself  on  the  bed,  folded  her 
arms  about  me  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  1  What,  both  gone  ? '  said  I. 

" '  Both,'  she  replied,  endeavoring  to 
restrain  her  emotions;  'but  they  are 
happy,  no  doubt.'  " 

Here  Mr.  Eldridge  paused!  the  recol- 
lection of  the  scene  was  too  painful  to 
permit  him  to  proceed. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


CHANGE  OF  FORTUNE. 

"  It  was  some  days/'  continued  Mr. 
Eldridge,  recovering  himself,  "  before  I 
could  venture  to  inquire  the  particulars 
of  what  had  happened  during  my  illness; 
at  last  I  assumed  courage  to  ask  my  dear 
girl  how  long  her  mother  and  brother 
had  been  dead.  She  told  me  that  the 
morning  after  my  arrest,  George  came 
home  early  to  inquire  after  his  mother's 
health,  stayed  with  them  but  a  few  min- 
utes, seemed  to  be  greatly  agitated  at 
parting,  but  gave  them  strict  charge  to 
keep  up  their  spirits,  and  hope  every- 
thing would  turn  out  for  the  best.  In 
about  two  hours,  as  they  were  sitting  at 
breakfast  and  endeavoring  to  strike  out 
some  plan  to  attain  my  liberty,  they 
heard  a  loud  rap  at  the  door,  which  Lucy, 
running  to  open,  she  met  the  bleeding 

28 


Charlotte  Temple. 


29 


body  of  her  brother,  borne  in  by  two 
men,  who  lifted  it  from  a  litter,  on 
which  they  had  brought  him  from  the 
place  where  he  had  fought. 

"  Her  poor  mother,  weakened  by  ill- 
ness and  the  struggles  of  the  preceding 
night,  was  not  able  to  support  this  shock; 
gasping  for  breath,  her  looks  wild  and 
haggard,  she  reached  the  apartment 
where  they  had  carried  her  dying  son. 
She  knelt  by  his  bedside,  and  taking  his 
cold  hand :  '  My  poor  boy/  said  she,  '  I 
will  not  be  parted  from  thee;  husband — 
son — both  at  once  lost !  Father  of  mer- 
cies, spare  me  !  '  She  fell  into  a  strong 
convulsion,  and  expired  within  two 
hours.  In  the  meantime  a  surgeon  had 
dressed  George's  wounds;  but  they  were 
in  such  a  situation  as  to  bar  the  smallest 
hopes  of  recovery.  He  never  was  sensi- 
ble from  the  time  he  was  brought  home, 
and  died  that  evening  in  the  arms  of  his 
sister. 


30  Charlotte  Temple. 


"  Late  as  it  was  when  this  event  took 
place,  my  affectionate  Lucy  insisted  on 
coming  to  me.  *  What  must  he  feel,' 
said  she,  '  at  our  apparent  neglect,  and 
how  shall  I  inform  him  of  the  afflictions 
with  which  it  has  pleased  Heaven  to  visit 
us  V 

"  She  left  the  care  of  the  dear  depart- 
ed ones  to  some  neighbors,  who  had  kind- 
ly some  in  to  comfort  and  assist  her,  and 
on  entering  the  house  where  I  was  con- 
fined, found  me  in  the  situation  I  have 
mentioned. 

"  How  she  supported  herself  in  these 
trying  moments  I  know  not;  Heaven 
no  doubt  was  with  her;  and  her  anxiety 
to  preserve  the  life  of  one  parent  in  some 
measure  abated  her  affliction  for  the  loss 
of  the  other. 

"  My  circumstances  were  greatly  em- 
barrassed, my  acquaintances  few,  and 
those  few  utterly  unable  to  assist  me. 
When  my  wife  and  son  were  committed 


Charlotte  Temple.  31 

to  their  kindred  earth,  my  creditors 
seized  my  house  and  furniture,  which, 
not  being  sufficient  to  satisfy  their  de- 
mands, detainers  were  lodged  against 
me.  Xo  friend  stepped  foward  to  my  re- 
lief; from  the  grave  of  her  mother,  my 
beloved  Lucy  followed  an  almost  dying 
father  to  this  melancholy  place. 

"  Here  we  have  been  nearly  a  year  and 
a  half.  My  half-pay  I  have  given  up  to 
satisfy  my  creditors,  and  my  child  sup- 
ports me  by  her  industry;  sometimes  by 
fine  needle-work,  sometimes  by  painting. 
She  leaves  me  every  night,  and  goes  to  a 
lodging  near  the  bridge;  but  returns  in 
the  morning  to  cheer  me  with  her  smiles, 
and  bless  me  by  her  duteous  affection.  A 
lady  once  offered  her  an  a>ylum  in  her 
family,  but  she  would  not  leave  me. 
*  AVe  are  all  the  world  to  each  other/  said 
she.  i  I  thank  God  I  have  health  and 
spirits  to  improve  the  talents  nature  has 
endowed  me  with;  I  trust,  if  I  employ 


32 


Charlotte  Temple. 


them  in  the  support  of  a  beloved  parent, 
I  shall  not  be  thought  an  unprofitable 
servant.  "While  he  lives  I  pray  for 
strength  to  pursue  my  employment ;  and 
when  it  pleases  Heaven  to  take  one  of 
us,  may  it  give  the  survivor  fortitude  to 
bear  the  separation  with  due  resignation ; 
till  then  I  will  never  leave  him.'  " 

"  But  where  is  this  inhuman  persecu- 
tor ?  "  said  Temple. 

"  He  has  been  abroad  ever  since,"  re- 
plied the  old  man ;  "  but  he  has  left  or- 
ders with  his  lawyer  never  to  give  up  the 
note  until  the  utmost  farthing  is  paid." 

"And  how  much  is  the  amount  of 
your  debts  in  all  ?  "  said  Temple. 

"  Five  hundred  pounds,"  he  replied. 

Temple  started;  it  was  more  than  he 
expected. 

"  But  something  must  be  done,"  said 
he ;  "  that  sweet  maid  must  not  wear  out 
her  life  in  prison.  I  will  see  you  again 
to-morrow,  my  friend,"  said  he,  shaking 


Charlotte  Temple.  33 


Eldridge's  hand.  "  Keep  up  your  spir- 
its; light  and  shade  are  not  more  happily 
blended  than  are  the  pleasures  and  pains 
of  life;  and  the  horrors  of  the  one  serve 
only  to  increase  the  splendor  of  the 
other." 

"  You  never  lost  a  wife  and  son,"  said 
Eldridge. 

"  No/'  replied  he,  "  but  I  can  feel  for 
those  that  have." 

Eldridge  pressed  his  hand,  as  they 
went  toward  the  door,  and  they  parted 
in  silence. 

"When  they  got  without  the  walls  of 
the  prison,  Temple  thanked  his  friend 
Blakeney  for  introducing  him  to  so 
worthy  a  character ;  and,  telling  him  that 
he  had  a  particular  engagement  in  the 
city,  wished  him  a  good-evening. 

"And  what  is  to  be  done  for  this  dis- 
tressed man  ?  "  said  Temple,  as  he  walk- 
ed up  Ludgate  Hill.  "  Would  to  Heaven 
I  had  a  fortune  that  would  enable  me  in- 


34 


Charlotte  Temple. 


stantly  to  discharge  his  debt;  what  ex- 
quisite transport,  to  see  the  expressive 
eyes  of  Lucy  beaming  at  once  with 
pleasure  for  her  father's  deliverance  and 
gratitude  for  his  deliverer;  but  is  not 
my  fortune  affluence,"  continued  he, 
"  nay,  superfluous  wealth,  when  com- 
pared to  the  extreme  indigence  of  El- 
dridge?  And  what  have  I  done  to  de- 
serve ease  and  plenty,  while  a  brave 
officer  starves  in  prison?  Three  hundred 
a  year  is  surely  sufficient  for  all  my 
wants  and  wishes;  at  any  rate,  Eldridge 
must  be  relieved." 

When  the  heart  has  will,  the  hands 
can  soon  find  means  to  execute  a  good 
action. 

Temple  was  a  young  man,  his  feelings 
warm  and  impetuous;  unacquainted 
with  the  world,  his  heart  had  not  been 
rendered  callous  by  being  convinced  of 
its  fraud  and  hypocrisy.  He  pitied  their 
sufferings,     overlooked    their  faults, 


Charlotte  Temple. 


35 


thought  every  bosom  as  generous  as  his 
own,  and  would  cheerfully  have  divided 
his  last  guinea  with  an  unfortunate  fel- 
low creature. 

~No  wonder,  then,  that  such  a  man 
(without  waiting  a  moment  for  the  in- 
terference of  Madame  Prudence)  should 
resolve  to  raise  money  sufficient  for  the 
relief  of  Eldridge,  by  mortgaging  part 
of  his  fortune. 

We  will  not  inquire  too  minutely  into 
the  motive  which  might  actuate  him  in 
this  instance:  suffice  it  to  say,  he  im- 
mediately, put  the  plan  into  execution ; 
and  in  three  days  from  the  time  he  first 
saw  the  unfortunate  lieutenant  he  had 
the  superlative  felicity  of  seeing  him  at 
liberty,  and  receiving  an  ample  reward 
in  the  tearful  eye  and  half-articulated 
thanks  of  the  grateful  Lucy. 

''And  pray,  young  man,"  said  his 
father  to  him  one  morning,  4 '  what  are 
your  designs  in  visiting  thus  constantly 
the  old  man  and  his  daughter  ? ' ' 


36  Charlotte  Temple. 


Temple  was  at  a  loss  for  a  reply;  he 
had  never  asked  himself  the  question ;  he 
hesitated,  and  his  father  continued: 

a  It  was  not  till  within  these  few  days 
that  I  heard  in  what  manner  your  ac- 
quaintance first  commenced,  and  I  can- 
not suppose  anything  but  attachment  to 
the  daughter  could  carry  you  such  im- 
prudent lengths  for  the  father;  it  must 
certainly  have  been  her  art  that  drew 
you  into  mortgaging  part  of  your  for- 
tune." 

"Art,  sir  !  "  cried  Temple,  eagerly — 
"  Lucy  Eldridge  is  as  free  from  art  as 
she  is  from  every  other  error;  she 
is  " 

"  Everything  that  is  amiable  and  love- 
ly," said  his  father,  interrupting  him, 
ironically.  "  No  doubt,  in  your  opin- 
ion, she  is  a  pattern  of  excellence  for  all 
her  sex  to  follow.  But  come,  sir,  pray 
tell  me,  what  are  your  designs  towards 
this  paragon  ?    I  hope  you  do  not  intend 


Charlotte  Temple. 


37 


to  complete  your  folly  by  marrying 
her  ?  " 

"  Were  my  fortune  such  as  would  sup- 
port her  according  to  her  merit,  I  don't 
know  a  woman  more  formed  to  insure 
happiness  in  the  marriage  state." 

"  Then,  prithee,  my  dear  lad,"  said 
his  father,  "  since  your  rank  and  fortune 
are  so  much  beneath  what  your  Princess 
might  expect,  be  so  kind  as  to  turn  your 
eyes  to  Miss  Weatherby,  who,  having 
only  an  estate  of  three  thousand  a  year, 
is  more  upon  a  level  with  you,  and  whose 
father  yesterday  solicited  the  mighty 
honor  of  your  alliance.  I  leave  you  to 
consider  on  this  offer,  and  pray  remem- 
ber that  your  union  with  Miss  Weather- 
by  will  put  it  in  your  power  to  be  more 
liberally  the  friend  of  Lucy  Eldridge." 

The  old  gentleman  walked  in  a  stately 
manner  out  of  the  room,  and  Temple 
stood  almost  petrified  with  astonishment, 
contempt  and  rage. 


CHAPTER  V. 


SUCH  THINGS  ARE. 

Miss  Weatherby  was  the  only  child 
of  a  wealthy  man,  almost  idolized  by  her 
parents,  nattered  by  her  dependents,  and 
never  contradicted,  even  by  those  who 
called  themselves  her  friends. 

I  cannot  give  a  better  description 
than  by  the  following  lines: 

The  lovely  maid  whose  form  and  face 
Nature  has  deek'd  with  every  grace, 
But  in  whose  breast  no  virtues  glow, 
Whose  heart  ne'er  felt  another's  woe, 
Whose  hand  ne'er  smooth'd  the  bed  of  pain, 
Or  eas'd  the  captive's  galling  chain: 
But  like  the  tulip  caught  the  eye, 
Born  just  to  be  admir'd  and  die; 
When  gone,  no  one  regrets  its  loss, 
Or  scarce  remembers  that  it  was. 

Such  was  Miss  Weatherby;  her  form 
lovely  as  nature  conld  make  it,  but  her 
mind  uncultivated,  her  passions  impetu- 
ous, and  her  brain  almost  turned  with 

3  8 


Charlotte  Temple.  39 

flattery,  dissipation,  and  pleasure;  and 
such  was  the  girl  whom  a  partial  grand- 
father left  independent  mistress  of  the 
fortune  before  mentioned. 

She  had  seen  Temple  frequently;  and. 
fancying  she  could  never  be  happy  with- 
out him,  nor  once  imagining  he  could 
refuse  a  girl  of  her  beauty  and  fortune, 
she  prevailed  on  her  fond  father  to  offer 

the  alliance  to  the  Earl  of  D  ,  Mr. 

Temple's  father. 

The  earl  had  received  the  offer  court- 
eously; he  thought  it  a  great  match  for 
Henry;  and  was  too  fashionable  a  man 
to  suppose  a  wife  could  be  any  impedi- 
ment to  the  friendship  he  professed  for 
Eldridge  and  his  daughter. 

Unfortunately  for  Temple,*  he 
thought  quite  otherwise;  the  conversa- 
tion he  had  just  had  with  his  father  dis- 
covered to  him  the  situation  of  his  heart ; 
and  he  found  that  the  most  affluent  for- 
tune would  bring  no  increase  of  happi- 


40  Charlotte  Temple. 


ness  unless  Lucy  Eldridge  shared  it  with 
him;  and  the  integrity  of  his  own  heart 
made  him  shudder  at  the  idea  his  father 
had  started,  of  marrying  a  woman  for  no 
other  reason  than  because  the  affluence  of 
her  fortune  would  enable  him  to  injure 
her  by  maintaining  in  splendor  the 
woman  to  whom  his  heart  was  devoted; 
he  therefore  resolved  to  refuse  ^liss 
Weatherby,  and,  be  the  event  what  it 
might,  offer  his  heart  and  hand  to  Lucy 
Eldridge. 

Full  of  this  determination,  he  sought 
his  father,  declared  his  resolution,  and 
was  commanded  never  more  to  appear  in 
his  presence. 

Temple  bowed;  his  heart  was  too  full 
to  permit  him  to  speak;  he  left  the  house 
precipitately,  and  hastened  to  relate  the 
cause  of  his  sorrow  to  his  good  old  friend 
and  his  amiable  daughter. 

In  the  meantime,  the  earl,  vexed  to 
the  soul  that  such  a  fortune  should  be 


Charlotte  Temple.  41 


lost,  determined  to  offer  himself  a  candi- 
date for  Miss  Weatherby's  favor. 

What  wonderful  changes  are  wrought 
by  that  reigning  power,  ambition !  The 
love-sick  girl,  when  first  she  heard  of 
Temple's  refusal,  wept,  raved,  tore  her 
hair,  and  vowed  to  found  a  Protestant 
nunnery  with  her  fortune;  and  com- 
mencing abbess,  to  shut  herself  up  from 
the  sight  of  cruel,  ungrateful  man  for- 
ever. 

Her  father  was  a  man  of  the  world;  he 
suffered  his  first  transport  to  subside, 
and  then  very  deliberately  unfolded  to 
her  the  offers  of  the  old  earl,  expatiating 
on  the  many  benefits  arising  from  an  ele- 
vated title ;  painted  in  glowing  colors  the 
surprise  and  vexation  of  Temple  when 
he  should  see  her  figuring  as  a  countess 
and  his  step-mother,  and  begged  her  to 
consider  well  before  she  made  any  rash 
vows. 

The  distressed  fair  one  dried  her  tears, 


42 


Charlotte  Temple. 


listened  patiently,  and  at  length  declared 
she  believed  the  surest  method  to  re- 
venge the  slight  put  on  her  by  the  son. 
would  be  to  accept  the  father;  so  said — 
so  done,  and  in  a  feAv  days  she  became 

the  Countess  D  . 

Temple  heard  the  news  with  emotion; 
he  had  lost  his  father's  favor  by  avowing 
his  passion  for  Lucy,  and  he  saw  now 
there  was  no  hope  of  regaining  it.  "  But 
he  shall  not  make  me  miserable,"  said 
he.  "  Lucy  and  I  have  no  ambitious  no- 
tions; we  can  live  on  three  hundred  a 
year  for  some  little  time,  till  the  mort- 
gage is  paid  off,  and  then  we  shall  have 
sufficient  not  only  for  the  comforts,  but 
many  of  the  little  elegancies  of  life.  We 
will  purchase  a  little  cottage,  my  Lucy," 
said  he,  "  thither  with  your  reverend 
father,  we  will  retire;  we  will  forget  that 
there  are  such  things  as  splendor,  pro- 
fusion, and  dissipation — we  will  have 
some  cowts,  and  you  shall  be  queen  of  the 


Charlotte  Temple.  43 


dairy;  in  the  morning,  while  I  look  after 
my  garden,  you  shall  take  a  basket  on 
your  arm,  and  sally  forth  to  feed  your 
poultry;  and  as  they  flutter  round  you  in 
humble  gratitude,  your  father  shall 
smoke  his  pipe  in  a  woodbine  alcove,  and 
viewing  the  serenity  of  your  counten- 
ance, feel  such  real  pleasure  dilate  his 
heart  as  shall  make  him  regret  that  he 
has  ever  been  unhappy." 

Lucy  smiled,  and  Temple  saw  it  was 
the  smile  of  approbation.  He  sought 
and  found  a  cottage  suited  to  his  taste; 
thither,  attended  by  love  and  Hymen, 
the  happy  trio  retired,  where,  during 
many  years  of  uninterrupted  felicity, 
they  cast  not  a  wish  beyond  the  little 
boundaries  of  their  own  tenement. 
Plenty,  and  her  hand-maid,  Prudence, 
presided  at  their  board;  hospitality  stood 
at  their  gate,  peace  smiled  on  each  face, 
content  reigned  in  each  heart,  and  love 
and  health  strewed  roses  on  their  pillows. 


44  Charlotte  Temple. 


Such  were  the  parents  of  Charlotte 
Temple,  who  was  the  only  pledge  of 
their  mutual  love,  and  who,  at  the  earn- 
est entreaty  of  a  particular  friend,  was 
permitted  to  finish  the  education  her 
mother  had  begun,  at  Madame  Du 
Pont's  school,  where  we  first  introduced 
her  to  the  acquaintance  of  the  reader. 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

AN  INTRIGUING  TEACHER. 

Madame  Du  Pont  was  a  woman  in 
every  way  calculated  to  take  care  of 
young  ladies,  had  that  care  entirely  de- 
volved on  herself;  but  it  was  impossible 
to  attend  to  the  education  of  a  numerous 
school  without  proper  assistants;  and 
those  assistants  were  not  always  the  kind 
of    people    whose    conversations  and 


Charlotte  Temple. 


45 


morals  were  exactly  such  as  parents  of 
delicacy  and  refinement  would  wish  a 
daughter  to  copy. 

Among  the  teachers  at  Madame  Du 
Font's  school  was  Mademoiselle  La  Rue, 
who  added  to  a  pleasing  person  and  in- 
sinuating address  a  liberal  education  and 
the  manners  of  a  gentlewoman.  She 
was  recommended  to  the  school  by  a  lady 
whose  humanity  overstepped  the  bounds 
of  discretion ;  for,  though  she  knew  Miss 
La  Rue  had  eloped  from  a  convent  with 
a  young  officer,  and  on  coming  to  Eng- 
land had  lived  in  open  defiance  of  all 
moral  and  religious  duties,  yet,  finding 
her  reduced  to  the  most  abject  want,  and 
believing  the  penitence  which  she  pro- 
fessed to  be  sincere,  she  took  her  into  her 
own  family,  and  thence  recommended 
her  to  Madame  Du  Pont,  as  thinking  the 
situation  more  suitable  for  a  woman  of 
her  abilities. 

But  mademoiselle  possessed  too  much 


46  Charlotte  Temple. 


the  spirit  of  intrigue  to  remain  long 
without  adventures.  At  church,  where 
she  constantly  appeared,  her  person  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  a  young  man 
who  was  upon  a  visit  at  a  gentleman's 
seat  in  the  neighborhood;  she  had  met 
him  several  times  clandestinely,  and  be- 
ing invited  to  come  out  that  evening  and 
eat  some  fruit  and  pastry  in  a  summer- 
house  belonging  to  the  gentleman  he  was 
visiting,  and  requested  to  bring  some  of 
the  ladies  with  her,  Charlotte,  being  her 
favorite,  was  fixed  on  to  accompany  her. 

The  mind  of  youth  easily  catches  at 
promised  pleasure.  Pure  and  innocent 
by  nature,  it  thinks  not  of  the  dangers 
lurking  beneath  those  pleasures  until  too 
late  to  avoid  them. 

When  mademoiselle  asked  Charlotte 
to  go  with  her,  she  mentioned  the  gen- 
tleman as  a  relation,  and  spoke  in  such 
high  terms  of  the  elegance  of  his  gar- 
dens, the  sprightliness  of  his  conversa- 


Charlotte  Temple.  47 


tion,  and  the  liberality  with  which  he 
entertained  his  guests,  that  Charlotte 
thought  only  of  the  pleasure  she  should 
enjoy  in  the  visit,  not  of  the  imprudence 
of  going  without  her  governess'  knowl- 
edge, or  of  the  danger  to  which  she  ex- 
posed herself  in  visiting  the  house  of  a 
young  man  of  fashion. 

Madame  Du  Pont  had  gone  out  for 
the  evening,  and  the  rest  of  the  ladies 
had  retired  to  rest,  when  Charlotte  and 
the  teacher  stole  out  of  the  back  gate, 
and  in  crossing  the  field,  were  accosted 
by  Montraville,  as  mentioned  in  the  first 
chapter. 

Charlotte  was  disappointed  at  the 
pleasure  she  had  promised  herself  from 
this  visit.  The  levity  of  the  gentlemen 
and  the  freedom  of  their  conversation 
disgusted  her.  She  was  astonished  at 
the  liberties  mademoiselle  permitted 
them  to  take,  grew  thoughtful  and  un- 
easy, and  heartily  wished  herself  at  home 
again,  in  her  own  chamber. 


48  Charlotte  Temple. 


Perhaps  one  cause  of  that  wish  might 
be  an  earnest  desire  to  see  the  contents  of 
the  letter  which  had  been  put  into  her 
hand  by  Montraville. 

Any  reader,  who  has  the  least  knowl- 
edge of  the  world,  will  easily  imagine  the 
letter  was  made  up  of  encomiums  on  her 
beauty,  and  vows  of  everlasting  love  and 
constancy,  nor  will  he  be  surprised  that 
a  heart  open  to  every  gentle,  generous 
sentiment,  should  feel  itself  warmed  by 
gratitude  for  a  man  who  professed  to  feel 
so  much  for  her,  nor  is  it  improbable  that 
her  mind  might  revert  to  the  agreeable 
person  and  martial  appearance  of  Mon- 
traville. 

In  affairs  of  love,  a  young  heart  is 
never  in  more  danger  than  when  attack- 
ed by  a  handsome  young  soldier.  A  man 
of  indifferent  appearance  will,  when  ar- 
rayed in  a  military  habit,  show  to  ad- 
vantage, but  when  beauty  of  person,  ele- 
gance of  manner,  and  an  easy  method 


Charlotte  Temple. 


49 


of  paying  compliments  are  united  to  the 
scarlet  coat,  smart  cockade,  and  military 
sash — ah!  well-a-day  for  the  poor  girl 
who  gazes  upon  him;  she  is  in  imminent 
danger,  but  if  she  listens  to  him  with 
pleasure,  'tis  all  over  with  her,  and  from 
that  moment  she  has  neither  eyes  nor 
ears  for  any  other  object. 

Xow,  my  dear,  sober  matron — if  a 
sober  matron  should  deign  to  turn  over 
these  pages  before  she  trusts  them  to  the 
eyes  of  a  darling  daughter — let  me  en- 
treat you  not  to  put  on  a  grave  face  and 
throw  down  the  book  in  a  passion,  and  de- 
clare'tis  enough  to  turn  the  heads  of  half 
the  girls  in  England.  I  do  solemnly  pro- 
test, my  dear  madam,  I  mean  no  more 
by  what  I  have  here  advanced  than  to 
ridicule  those  girls  who  foolishly  im- 
agine a  red  coat  and  a  silver  eqaulet  con- 
stitute a  fine  gentleman;  and  should  that 
fine  gentleman  make  half  a  dozen  fine 
speeches   to   them   they   will  imagine 


50 


Charlotte  Temple. 


themselves  so  much  in  love  as  to  fancy 
it  a  meritorious  act  to  jump  out  of  a 
two-pair  stairs  window,  abandon  their 
friends,  and  trust  entirely  to  the  honor 
of  a  man  who,  perhaps,  hardly  knows 
the  meaning  of  the  word,  and  if  he  does, 
will  be  too  much  the  modern  man  of  re- 
finement to  practise  it  in  their  favor. 

Gracious  Heaven !  when  I  think  of  the 
miseries  that  must  rend  the  heart  of  a 
doting  parent,  when  he  sees  the  darling 
of  his  age  at  first  seduced  from  his  protec- 
tion, and  afterwards  abandoned  by  the 
very  wretch  whose  promises  of  love  de- 
coyed her  from  the  paternal  roof — when 
he  sees  her  poor  and  wretched,  her  bosom 
torn  between  remorse  for  her  crime  and 
love  for  her  foul  betrayer — when  fancy 
paints  to  me  the  good  old  man  stooping 
to  raise  the  weeping  penitent,  while 
every  tear  from  her  eye  is  numbered  by 
drops  from  his  bleeding  heart,  my  bosom 
glows  with  honest  indignation,  and  T 


Charlotte  Temple. 


51 


wish  for  power  to  extirpate  these  mon- 
sters of  seduction  from  the  earth. 

Oh,  my  dear  girls — for  to  such  only 
am  I  writing — listen  not  to  the  voice  of 
love,  unless  sanctioned  by  paternal  ap- 
probation; be  assured,  it  is  now  past  the 
days  of  romance;  no  woman  can  be  run 
away  with  contrary  to  her  own  inclina- 
tion ;  then  kneel  down  each  morning  and 
request  kind  Heaven  to  keep  you  free 
from  temptation;  or  should  it  please  to 
suffer  you  to  be  tried,  pray  for  fortitude 
to  resist  the  impulse  of  natural  inclina- 
tion, when  it  runs  counter  to  the  precepts 
of  religion  and  virtue. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


NATURAL  SENSE  OF  PROPRIETY  INHERENT 
IN  THE  FEMALE  BOSOM. 

"  I  cannot  think  we  have  done  exact- 
ly right  in  going  ont  this  evening, 
mademoiselle,"  said  Charlotte,  seating 
herself,  when  she  entered  her  apart- 
ment; u  nay,  I  am  sure  it  was  not  right; 
for  I  expected  to  be  very  happy,  but  was 
sadly  disappointed." 

"  It  was  your  own  fault,  then,"  replied 
mademoiselle ;  "  for  I  am  sure  my  cousin 
omitted  nothing  that  could  serve  to  ren- 
der the  evening  agreeable." 

"True,"  said  Charlotte,  "but  I 
thought  the  gentlemen  were  very  free  in 
their  manner;  I  wonder  you  would  suf- 
fer them  to  behave  as  they  did." 

"  Prithee,  don't  be  such  a  foolish  little 
prude,"  said  the  artful  woman,  affecting 
anger.    "  I  invited  you  to  go,  in  hope*  it 

52 


Charlotte  Temple.  53 


would  divert  you,  and  be  an  agreeable 
change  of  scene;  however,  if  your  del- 
icacy was  hurt  by  the  behavior  of  the 
gentlemen,  you  need  not  go  again;  so 
there  let  it  rest." 

"  I  do  not  intend  to  go  again,"  said 
Charlotte,  gravely,  taking  off  her  bon- 
net, and  beginning  to  prepare  for  bed. 
"  I  am  sure,  if  Madame  Du  Pont  knew 
we  had  been  out  to-night,  she  would  be 
very  angry;  and  it  is  ten  to  one  but  she 
hears  of  it  by  some  means  or  other." 

"  Nay,  miss,"  said  La  Rue,  "  perhaps 
your  mighty  sense  of  propriety  may  lead 
you  to  tell  her  yourself,  and  in  order  to 
avoid  the  censure  you  would  incur 
should  she  hear  of  it  by  accident,  throw 
the  blame  on  me ;  but  I  confess  I  deserve 
it ;  it  will  be  a  very  kind  return  for  that 
partiality  which  led  me  to  prefer  you  be- 
fore any  of  the  rest  of  the  ladies,  but 
perhaps  it  will  give  you  pleasure,"  con- 
tinued she,  letting  fall  some  hypocritical 


54  Charlotte  Temple. 


tears,  "  to  see  me  deprived  of  bread,  and 
for  an  action  which  by  the  most  rigid 
could  be  esteemed  but  an  inadvertency, 
lose  my  place  and  character,  and  be 
driven  again  into  the  world,  where  I 
have  already  suffered  all  the  evils  attend- 
ant on  poverty." 

This  was  touching  Charlotte  in  the 
most  vulnerable  part;  she  arose  from  her 
seat,  and  taking  mademoiselle's  hand — 
"  You  know,  my  dear  La  Kue,"  said  she, 
"  I  love  you  too  well  to  do  anything  that 
would  injure  you  in  my  governess'  opin- 
ion; I  am  only  sorry  we  went  out  this 
evening." 

"I  don't  believe  it,  Charlotte,"  said 
she,  assuming  a  little  vivacity,  "  for,  if 
you  had  not  gone  out,  you  would  not 
have  seen  the  gentleman  who  met  us 
crossing  the  field,  and  I  rather  think  you 
were  pleased  with  his  conversation." 

"  I  had  seen  him  once  before,"  replied 
Charlotte,  "  and  thought  him  an  agree- 


Charlotte  Temple.  55 


able  man,  and  you  know  one  is  always 
pleased  to  see  a  person  with  whom  one 
has  passed  several  cheerful  hours.  But," 
said  she,  pausing  and  drawing  the  letter 
from  her  pocket,  while  a  general  suffu- 
sion of  vermilion  tinged  her  neck  and 
face,  "  he  gave  me  this  letter;  what  shall 
I  do  with  it  \  " 

"  Read  it,  to  be  sure,"  returned  made- 
moiselle. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  ought  not,"  said  Char- 
lotte. "  My  mother  has  often  told  me 
I  should  never  read  a  letter  given  me  by 
a  young  man  without  first  giving  it  to 
her." 

"  Lord  bless  you,  my  dear  girl  !  " 
cried  the  teacher,  smiling,  "  have  you  a 
mind  to  be  in  leading  strings  all  your 
lifetime?  Prithee,  open  the  letter,  read 
it,  and  judge  for  yourself.  If  you  show 
it  to  your  mother,  the  consequence  will 
be,  you  will  be  taken  from  school,  and  a 
strict  guard  kept  over  you,  so  you  wTill 


56  Charlotte  Temple. 


stand  no  chance  of  ever  seeing  the  smart 
young  officer  again." 

"  I  should  not  like  to  leave  school 
yet/'  replied  Charlotte,  "  till  I  have  at- 
tained a  greater  proficiency  in  my  Ital- 
ian and  music.  But  you  can,  if  you 
please,  mademoiselle,  take  the  letter 
back  to  Montraville,  and  tell  him  I  wish 
him  well,  but  cannot,  with  any  pro- 
priety, enter  into  a  clandestine  corres- 
pondence with  him." 

She  laid  the  letter  on  the  table,  and 
began  to  undress  herself. 

"  Well,"  said  La  Kue,  a  I  vow  you  are 
an  unaccountable  girl.  Have  you  no 
curiosity  to  see  the  inside  now?  For 
my  part,  I  could  no  more  let  a  letter  ad- 
dressed to  me  lie  unopened  so  long  than 
I  could  work  miracles;  he  writes  a  good 
hand,"  continued  she,  turning  the  letter 
to  look  at  the  superscription. 

"  'Tis  well  enough,"  said  C  harlotte, 
drawing  it  towards  her. 


Charlotte  Temple. 


57 


"  He  is  a  genteel  young  fellow,"  said 
La  Rue,  carelessly,  folding  up  her  apron 
at  the  same  time;  "but  I  think  he  is 
marked  with  the  smallpox." 

"  Oh,  you  are  greatly  mistaken,"  said 
Charlotte,  eagerly;  "he  has  a  remark- 
ably clear  skin  and  a  fine  complexion. 

"  His  eyes,  if  I  should  judge  by  what 
I  saw,"  said  La  Rue,  "  are  gray,  and 
want  expression." 

"By  no  means,"  replied  Charlotte; 
"  they  are  the  most  expressive  eyes  I  ever 
saw." 

"  Well,  child,  whether  they  are  gray 
or  black  is  of  no  consequence;  you  have 
determined  not  to  read  his  letter,  so  it  is 
likely  you  will  never  either  see  or  hear 
from  him  again." 

Charlotte  took  up  the  letter,  and 
mademoiselle  continued : 

"  He  is  most  probably  going  to  Amer- 
ica; and  if  ever  you  should  hear  any  ac- 
count of  him  it  may  possibly  be  that  he 


58  Charlotte  Temple. 


is  killed;  and  though  he  loved  you  ever 
so  fervently,  though  his  last  breath 
should  be  spent  in  a  prayer  for  your  hap- 
piness, it  can  be  nothing  to  you;  you  can 
feel  nothing  for  the  fate  of  the  man 
whose  letter  you  will  not  open,  and 
whose  sufferings  you  will  not  alleviate, 
by  permitting  him  to  think  you  would 
remember  him  when  absent  and  pray  for 
his  safety." 

Charlotte  still  held  the  letter  in  her 
hand;  her  heart  swelled  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  mademoiselle's  speech,  and  a  tear 
dropped  on  the  wafer  that  closed  it. 

"  The  wafer  is  not  dry  yet,"  said  she, 
"  and    sure    there    can    be    no  great 

harm  "     She  hesitated.     La  Eue 

was  silent.  "  I  may  read  it,  made- 
moiselle, and  return  it  afterwards." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  mademoiselle. 

"At  any  rate,  I  am  determined  not  to 
answer  it,"  continued  Charlotte,  as  she 
opened  the  letter. 


Charlotte  Temple.  59 


Here  let  me  stop  to  make  one  remark, 
and  trust  me,  my  very  heart  aches  while 
I  write  it;  but  certain  I  am  that  when 
once  a  woman  has  stifled  the  sense  of 
shame  in  her  own  bosom — when  once 
she  has  lost  sight  of  the  basis  on  which 
reputation,  honor,  everything  that 
.  should  be  dear  to  the  female  heart,  rests 
— she  grows  hardened  in  guilt,  and  will 
spare  no  pains  to  bring  down  innocence 
and  beauty  to  the  shocking  level  with 
herself;  and  this  proceeds  from  that  dia- 
bolical spirit  of  envy  which  repines  at 
seeing  another  in  full  possession  of  that 
respect  and  esteem  which  she  can  no 
longer  hope  to  enjoy. 

Mademoiselle  eyed  the  unsuspecting 
Charlotte,  as  she  perused  the  letter,  with 
malignant  pleasure.  She  saw  that  the 
contents  had  awakened  new  emotions  in 
her  youthful  bosom.' 

She  encouraged  her  hopes,  calmed  her 
fears,  and  before  they  parted  for  the 


00  Charlotte  Temple. 


night,  it  was  determined  that  she  should 
meet  Montraville  on  the  ensuing  even- 
ing. 


CHAPTEK  VIII. 

DOMESTIC  PLEASURES  PLANNED. 

"  I  think,  my  dear/'  said  Mrs.  Term 
pie,  laying  her  hand  on  her  husband's 
arm,  as  they  were  walking  together  in 
the  garden,  "  I  think  next  Wednesday 
will  be  Charlotte's  birthday.  Xow,  I 
have  formed  a  little  scheme  in  my  own 
mind  to  give  her  an  agreeable  surprise, 
and  if  you  have  no  objection,  we  will 
send  for  her  to  come  home  on  that  day." 

Temple  pressed  his  wife's  hand  in 
token  of  approbation,  and  she  proceeded : 

"  You  know  the  little  alcove  in  the 
bottom  of  the  garden,  of  which  Char- 


Charlotte  Temple.  61 


lotte  is  so  fond?  I  have  an  inclination 
to  deck  it  out  in  a  fanciful  manner,  and 
invite  all  her  little  friends  to  partake  of 
a  collation  of  fruit,  sweetmeats,  and 
other  things  suitable  to  the  general  taste 
of  young  guests,  and  to  make  it  more 
pleasing  to  Charlotte,  she  shall  be  mis- 
tress of  the  feast,  and  entertain  her  visit- 
ors in  this  alcove.  I  know  she  will  be 
delighted,  and,  to  complete  all,  they 
shall  have  some  music,  and  finish  with  a 
dance." 

"  A  very  fine  plan,  indeed,"  said  Tem- 
ple, smiling,  "  and  you  really  suppose  I 
will  wink  at  your  indulging  the  girl  in 
this  manner?  You  will  spoil  her,  Lucy; 
indeed  you  will." 

"  She  is  the  only  child  we  have,"  said 
Mrs.  Temple,  the  whole  tenderness  of  a 
mother  adding  animation  to  her  fine 
countenance,  but  it  was  wTithal  tempered 
so  sweetly  with  the  meek  affection  and 
kind  compliance  of  the  wife,  that  as  she 


62 


Charlotte  Temple. 


paused,  expecting  her  husband's  answer, 
he  gazed  at  her  tenderly,  and  found  he 
was  unable  to  refuse  her  request. 

"  She  is  a  good  girl,"  said  Temple. 

"  She  is,  indeed,"  replied  the  fond 
mother,  exultingly,  "  a  grateful,  affec- 
tionate girl;  and  I  am  sure  will  never 
lose  sight  of  the  duty  she  owes  her 
parents." 

"  If  she  does,"  said  he,  "  she  must  for- 
get the  example  set  her  by  the  best  of 
mothers." 

Mrs.  Temple  could  not  reply;  but  the 
delightful  sensation  that  dilated  her 
heart  sparkled  in  her  intelligent  eye  and 
heightened  the  vermillion  on  her  cheeks. 

Of  all  the  pleasures  of  which  the  hu- 
man mind  is  sensible,  there  is  none  equal 
to  that  which  warms  and  expands  the 
bosom  when  wTe  are  listening  to  com- 
mendation bestowed  on  us  by  a  beloved 
object,  and  we  are  conscious  of  having 
deserved  it. 


( Jharlotte  Temple. 


63 


Ye  giddy  flutterers  in  the  fantastic 
round  of  dissipation,  who  eagerly  seek 
pleasure  in  the  lofty  dome,  rich  »treat, 
and  midnight  revel — tell  me,  thought- 
less daughters  of  folly,  have  you  ever 
found  the  phantom  you  have  so  long 
sought  with  unremitting  assiduity? 

Has  she  not  always  eluded  your  grasp, 
and  when  you  have  reached  your  hand 
to  take  the  cup  she  extends  to  the  de- 
luded votaries,  have  you  not  found  the 
long-expected  draught  strongly  tinc- 
tured with  the  bitter  dregs  of  disappoint- 
ment ?  I  know  you  have.  I  see  it  in  the 
wan  cheek,  sunken  eye,  and  air  of  cha- 
grin, which  ever  mark  the  children  of 
dissipation.  Pleasure  is  a  vain  illusion; 
she  draws  you  on  to  a  thousand  follies, 
errors,  and,  I  may  say,  vices,  and  then 
leaves  you  to  deplore  your  thoughtless 
credulity. 

Look,  my  dear  friends,  at  yonder 
lovely  virgin,  arrayed  in  a  white  robe, 


64  Charlotte  Temple. 


devoid  of  ornament;  behold  the  meekness 
of  her  countenance,  the  modesty  of  her 
gait;  her  handmaids  are  humility,  filial 
piety,  conjugal  affection,  industry  and 
benevolence;  her  name  is  Content;  she 
holds  in  her  hand  the  cup  of  true  felic- 
ity, and  when  once  you  have  formed  an 
intimate  acquaintance  with  these  her  at- 
tendants— nay,  you  must  admit  them  as 
your  bosom  friends  and  chief  counsellors 
■ — then,  whatever  may  be  your  situation 
in  life,  the  meek-eyed  virgin  will  imme- 
diately take  up  her  abode  with  you. 

Is  poverty  your  portion?  she  will 
lighten  your  labors,  preside  at  your  fru- 
gal board,  and  watch  your  quiet  slum- 
bers. 

Is  your  state  mediocrity?  she  will 
heighten  every  blessing  you  enjoy,  by  in- 
forming you  how  grateful  you  should  be 
to  that  bountiful  Providence,  who  might 
have  placed  you  in  the  most  abject  situ- 
ation, and  by  teaching  you  to  weigh  your 


Charlotte  Temple. 


65 


blessings  against  your  deserts,  show  you 
how  much  more  you  receive  than  you 
have  a  right  to  expect. 

Are  you  possessed  of  affluence — what 
an  inexhaustible  fund  of  happiness  she 
will  lay  before  you!  To  relieve  the  dis- 
tress, redress  the  injured — in  short  to 
perform  all  the  good  works  of  peace  and 
mercy. 

Content,  my  dear  friends,  will  blunt 
even  the  arrows  of  an  adversary,  so  that 
they  cannot  materially  harm  you. 

She  will  dwell  in  the  humblest  cot- 
tage; she  will  attend  you  even  to  a  pris- 
on; her  parent  is  Religion;  her  sisters, 
Patience  and  Hope. 

She  will  pass  with  you  through  life, 
smoothing  the  rough  paths,  and  tread- 
ing to  earth  those  thorns  which  every 
one  must  meet  with  as  they  journey  on- 
ward to  the  appointed  goal. 

She  will  soften  the  pains  of  sickness, 
continue  with  you  even  in  the  coM, 


66 


Charlotte  Temple. 


gloomy  hour  of  death,  and  cheering  yon 
with  the  smiles  of  her  heaven-born  sis- 
ter, Hope,  will  lead  you  triumphantly 
to  a  blissful  eternity. 

I  confess  I  have  rambled  strangely 
from  my  story,  but  what  of  that?  If  I 
have  been  so  lucky  as  to  find  the  road  to 
happiness,  why  should  I  be  such  a  nig- 
gard as  to  omit  so  good  an  opportunity 
of  pointing  out  the  way  to  others? 

The  very  basis  of  true  peace  of  mind 
is  a  benevolent  wish  to  see  all  the  world 
as  happy  as  one's  self ;  and  from  my  soul 
do  I  pity  the  selfish  churl,  who,  remem- 
bering the  little  bickering  of  anger, 
envy,  and  fifty  other  disagreeables  to 
which  frail  mortality  is  subject,  would 
wish  to  avenge  the  affront  which  pride 
whispers  him  he  has  received. 

For  my  own  part,  I  can  safely  declare, 
there  is  not  a  human  being  in  the  uni- 
verse whose  prosperity  I  should  not  re- 
joice in,  and  to  whose  happiness  I  would 


Charlotte  Temple.  07 

not  contribute  to  the  utmost  limit  of  my 
power.  And  may  my  offenses  be  no 
more  remembered  in  the  day  of  general 
retribution,  than  as  from  my  soul  I  for- 
give every  offense  or  injury  received 
from  a  fellow-creature. 

Merciful  Heaven  !  who  would  ex- 
change the  rapture  of  such  a  reflection 
for  all  the  gaudy  tinsel  which  the  world 
calls  pleasure! 

But  to  return.  Content  dwelt  in  Mrs. 
Temple's  bosom,  and  spread  a  charming 
animation  over  her  countenance,  as  her 
husband  led  her  in,  to  lay  the  plan  she 
had  formed  (for  the  celebration  of  Char- 
lotte's birthday)  before  Mr.  Eldridge. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


WE  KNOW  NOT  WHAT  A  DAY  MAY  BRING 
FORTH. 

Various  were  the  sensations  which 
agitated  the  mind  of  Charlotte  during 
the  day  preceding  the  evening  in  which 
she  was  to  meet  Montraville. 

Several  times  did  she  almost  resolve 
to  go  to  her  governess,  show  her  his  let- 
ter, and  be  guided  by  her  advice;  but 
Charlotte  had  taken  one  step  in  the  ways 
of  imprudence,  and  when  that  is  once 
done,  there  are  always  innumerable  ob- 
stacles to  prevent  the  erring  person  re- 
turning to  the  path  of  rectitude;  yet 
these  obstacles,  however  forcible  they 
may  appear  in  general,  exist  only  in  the 
imagination. 

Charlotte  feared  the  anger  of  her  gov- 
erness; she  loved  her  mother,  and  the 
•  el ' 


Charlotte  Temple. 


69 


very  idea  of  incurring  her  displeasure 
gave  the  greatest  uneasiness;  but  there 
was  a  more  forcible  reason  still  remain- 
ing. Should  she  show  the  letter  to  Mad- 
ame Du  Pont,  she  must  confess  the 
means  by  which  it  came  into  her  pos- 
session; and  what  would  be  the  conse- 
quence? Mademoiselle  would  be  turned 
out-of-doors. 

"  I  must  not  be  ungrateful,"  said  she. 
"  La  Rue  is  very  kind  to  me ;  besides,  I 
can,  when  I  see  Montraville,  inform  him 
of  the  impropriety  of  our  continuing  to 
see  or  correspond  with  each  other,  and 
request  him  to  come  no  more  to  Chi- 
chester" 

However  prudent  Charlotte  might  be 
in  these  resolutions,  she  certainly  did 
not  take  a  proper  method  to  confirm  her- 
self in  them.  Several  times  in  the 
course  of  the  day,  she  indulged  herself 
in  reading  over  the  letter,  and  each  time 
she  read  it  the  contents  sank  deeper  in 


70  Charlotte  Temple. 


her  heart.  As  evening  drew  near,  she 
caught  herself  frequently  consulting  her 
watch. 

"  I  wish  this  foolish  meeting  was 
over,"  said  she,  by  way  of  apology  to  her 
own  heart.  "I  wish  it  was  over;  for 
when  I  have  seen  him  and  convinced 
him  that  my  resolution  is  not  to  be 
shaken,  I  shall  feel  my  mind  much 
easier." 

The  appointed  'hour  arrived.  Char- 
lotte and  mademoiselle  eluded  the  eye 
of  vigilance;  and  Montraville,  who  had 
waited  their  coming  with  impatience,  re- 
ceived them  with  rapturous  and  un- 
bounded acknowledgment  for  their  con- 
descension. He  had  wisely  brought  Bel- 
cour  with  him  to  entertain  mademois- 
elle, while  he  enjoyed  an  uninterrupted 
conversation  with  Charlotte. 

Belcour  was  a  man  whose  character 
might  be  comprised  in  a  few  words;  and 
as  he  will  make  some  figure  in  the  ensu- 


Charlotte  Temple. 


71 


ing  pages,  I  shall  here  describe  him.  He 
possessed  a  genteel  fortune,  and  had  had 
a  liberal  education;  dissipated,  thought- 
less and  capricious,  he  paid  little  regard 
to  the  moral  duties,  and  less  to  religious 
ones;  eager  in  the  pursuit  of  pleasure, 
he  minded  not  the  miseries  he  inflicted 
on  others,  provided  his  own  wishes,  how- 
ever extravagant,  were  gratified.  Self, 
daring  self,  was  the  idol  he  worshiped, 
and  to  that  he  would  have  sacrificed  the 
interest  and  happiness  of  all  mankind. 
Such  was  the  friend  of  Montraville. 
Will  not  the  reader  be  ready  to  imagine, 
that  the  man  who  could  regard  such,  a 
character  must  be  actuated  by  the  same 
feelings,  follow  the  same  pursuits,  and 
be  equally  unworthy  with  the  person  to 
whom  he  thus  gave  his  confidence? 

But  Montraville  was  a  different  char- 
acter; generous  in  his  disposition,  lib- 
eral in  his  opinion,  and  good-natured  al- 
most to  a  fault,  yet  eager  and  impetuous 


Charlotte  Temple. 


in  the  pursuit  of  a  favorite  object,  he 
stayed  not  to  reflect  on  the  consequences 
which  might  follow  the  attainment  of 
his  wishes;  with  a  mind  ever  open  to 
conviction,  had  he  been  so  fortunate  as 
to  possess  a  friend  who  would  have 
pointed  out  the  cruelty  of  endeavoring 
to  gain  the  heart  of  an  innocent,  artless 
girl,  when  he  knew  it  was  utterly  impos- 
sible for  him  to  marry  her,  and  when 
the  gratification  of  his  passion  would  be 
unavoidable  infamy  and  misery  to  her, 
and  a  .  cause  of  never-ceasing  remorse  to 
himself.  Had  these  dreadful  conse- 
quences been  placed  before  him  in  a 
proper  light,  the  humanity  of  his  nature 
would  have  urged  him  to  give  up  the 
pursuit.  But  Belcour  was  not  his 
friend;  he  rather  encouraged  the  grow- 
ing passion  of  Montraville,  and  being 
pleased  with  the  vivacity  of  mademois- 
elle, resolved  to  leave  no  argument  un- 
tried which  he  thought  might  prevail 


Charlotte  Temple.  73 


on  her  to  be  the  companion  of  their  in- 
tended voyage,  and  he  had  no  doubt  but 
their  example,  added  to  the  rhetoric  of 
Montraville,  would  persuade  Charlotte 
to  go  with  them. 

Charlotte  had,  when  she  went  out  to 
meet  Montraville,  flattered  herself  that 
her  resolution  was  not  to  be  shaken, 
and  that,  conscious  of  the  impropriety 
of  her  conduct  in  having  a  clandestine 
intercourse  with  a  stranger,  she  would 
never  repeat  the  indiscretion. 

But  alas,  poor  Charlotte!  she  knew  not 
the  deceitfulness  of  her  own  heart,  or 
she  would  have  avoided  the  trial  of  her 
stability. 

Montraville  was  tender,  eloquent,  ar- 
dent, and  yet  respectful. 

"  Shall  I  not  see  you  once  more,"  said 
he,  "  before  I  leave  England?  Willyou 
not  bless  me  by  an  assurance  that,  when 
we  are  divided  by  a  vast  expanse  of  sea, 
I  shall  not  be  forgotten  ?  " 


74  Charlotte  Temple. 


Charlotte  sighed. 

"  Why  that  sigh,  my  dear  Charlotte  ? 
Could  I  flatter  myself  that  a  fear  for  my 
safety,  or  a  wish  for  my  welfare  occa- 
sioned it,  how  happy  it  would  make 
me!" 

u  I  shall  ever  wish  you  well,  Montra- 
ville,"  said  she,  'k  but  we  must  meet  no 
more." 

"  Oh,  say  not  so,  my  lovely  girl !  Re- 
flect that  when  I  leave  my  native  land, 
perhaps  a  few  short  weeks  may  termi- 
nate my  existence  ;  the  perils  of  the 
ocean — the  dangers  of  war  " 

"  I  can  hear  no  more,"  said  Charlotte, 
in  a  tremulous  voice.  "  I  must  leave 
you." 

"  Say  you  will  see  me  once  again." 

"  I  dare  not,"  said  she. 

ft  Only  for  one  half  hour  to-morrow 
evening;  'tis  my  last  request.  I  shall 
never  trouble  you  again,  Charlotte." 

"I  know  not  what  to  say,"  cried  Char- 


Charlotte  Temple. 


75 


lotte,"  struggling  to  draw  lier  hand  from 
him ;  "  let  me  leave  you  now." 

"And  will  you  come  to-morrow?" 
said  Montraville. 

"  Perhaps  I  may,"  said  she. 

"  Adieu,  then.  I  will  live  upon  that 
hope  until  we  meet  again." 

He  kissed  her  hand. 

She  sighed  an  adieu,  and  catching 
hold  of  mademoiselle's  arm,  hastily  en- 
tered the  garden  gate. 


CHAPTEK  X. 

WHEN     WE     HAVE     EXCITED  CURIOSITY, 
IT  IS  BUT  AX  ACT  OF  GOOD  NA- 
TURE TO  GRATIFY  IT. 

Moxtraville  was  the  youngest  son 
of  a  gentleman  of  fortune,  whose  family 
being  numerous,  he  was  obliged  to  bring 
up  his  sons  to  genteel  professions,  by 


76 


Charlotte  Temple. 


the  exercise  of  which  they  might  hope 
to  raise  themselves  into  notice. 

"  My  daughters,"  said  he,  "  have  been 
educated  like  gentlewomen;  and  should 
I  die  before  they  are  settled,  they  must 
have  some  provision  made  to  place  them 
above  the  snares  and  temptations  which 
vice  ever  holds  out  to  the  elegant,  ac- 
complished female,  wdien  oppressed  by 
the  frowns  of  poverty  and  the  sting  of 
dependence;  my  boys,  with  only  moder- 
ate incomes,  when  placed  in  the  church, 
at  the  bar,  or  in  the  field,  may  exert 
their  talents,  make  themselves  friends, 
and  raise  their  fortunes  on  the  basis  of 
merit." 

When  Montraville  chose  the  profes- 
sion of  arms,  his  father  presented  him 
with  a  commission,  and  made  him  a 
handsome  provision  for  his  private 
purse. 

"  Xow,  my  boy,"  said  he;  "go!  seek 
glory  on  the  field  of  battle.    You  have 


Charlotte  Temple. 


77 


received  from  me  all  I  shall  ever  have 
it  in  my  power  to  bestow;  it  is  certain  I 
have  interest  to  gain  your  promotion; 
but  be  assured  that  that  interest  shall 
never  be  exerted  unless  by  your  future 
conduct  you  deserve  it.  Remember, 
therefore,  your  success  in  life  depends 
entirely  upon  yourself. 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  consider  it  my 
duty  to  caution  you  against;  the  precip- 
itancy with  which  young  men  frequent- 
ly rush  into  matrimonial  engagements, 
and  by  their  thoughtlessness  draw  many 
a  deserving  woman  into  scenes  of  pov- 
erty and  distress. 

"A  soldier  has  no  business  to  think 
of  a  wife  until  his  rank  is  such  as  to 
place  him  above  the  fear  of  bringing 
into  the  world  a  train  of  helpless  inno- 
cents, heirs  only  to  penury  and  affliction. 

"  If,  indeed,  a  woman,  whose  fortune 
is  sufficient  to  preserve  you  in  that  state 
of  independence  which  I  would  teach 


78 


Charlotte  Temple. 


yon  to  prize,  should  generously  bestow 
herself  on  a  young  soldier,  whose  chief 
hope  of  future  prosperity  depended  on 
his  successes  in  the  field — if  such  a 
woman  should  offer — every  barrier  is 
removed,  and  I  shall  rejoice  in  a  union 
which  would  promise  so  much  felicity. 

"  But  mark  me,  boy,  if,  on  the  con- 
trary, you  rush  into  a  precipitate  union 
with  a  girl  of  little  or  no  fortune,  take 
the  poor  creature  from  a  comfortable 
home  and  kind  friends,  and  plunge  her 
into  all  the  evils  that  a  narrow  income 
and  increasing  family  can  inflict,  I  will 
leave  you  to  enjoy  the  blessed  fruits  of 
your  rashness,  for,  by  all  that  is  sacred, 
neither  my  interest  nor  my  fortune  shall 
ever  be  exerted  in  your  favor. 

"  I  am  serious,"  continued  he,  "  there- 
fore imprint. this  conversation  on  your 
memory,  and  let  it  influence  your  fu- 
ture conduct.  Your  happiness  will  al- 
ways be  dear  to  me;  and  I  wish  to  warn 


Charlotte  Temple.  79 


you  of  a  rock  on  which  the  peace  of 
many  an  honest  fellow  has  been 
wrecked;  for,  believe  me,  the  difficulties 
and  dangers  of  the  longest  winter  cam- 
paign are  much  easier  to  be  borne  than 
the  pangs  that  would  seize  your  heart, 
when  you  beheld  the  woman  of  your 
choice,  the  children  of  your  affection, 
involved  in  penury  and  distress,  and  re- 
flected that  it  was  your  own  folly  and 
precipitancy  that  had  been  the  prime 
cause  of  their  suffering." 

As  this  conversation  passed  but  a 
few  hours  before  Montraville  took  leave 
of  his  father,  it  was  deeply  impressed 
on  his  mind;  when,  therefore,  Belcour 
came  with  him  to  the  place  of  assigna- 
tion with  Charlotte,  he  directed  him  to 
inquire  of  the  Frenchwoman  what  were 
Miss  Temple's  expectations  in  regard  to 
fortune. 

Mademoiselle  informed  him,  that 
though  Charlotte's  father  possessed  a 


80  Charlotte  Temple. 


genteel  independence,  it  was  by  no 
means  probable  that  he  conld  give  his 
daughter  more  than  a  thousand  pounds; 
and  in  case  she  did  not  marry  to  his  lik- 
ing, it  was  possible  he  might  not  give 
her  a  single  sou;  nor  did  it  appear  the 
least  likely  that  Mr.  Temple  would  agree 
to  her  union  with  a  young  man  on  the 
point  of  embarking  for  the  seat  of  war. 

Montraville,  therefore,  concluded  it 
was  impossible  he  should  ever  marry 
Charlotte  Temple :  and  what  end  he  pro- 
posed to  himself  by  continuing  the  ac- 
quaintance he  had  commenced  with  her, 
he  did  not  at  that  moment  give  himself 
time  to  inquire. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


CONFLICT  OF  LOVE  AND  DUTY. 

Almost  a  week  was  now  gone,  and 
Charlotte  continued  every  evening  to 
meet  Montraville,  and  in  her  heart 
every  meeting  was  resolved  to  be  the 
last  ;  but  alas  !  when  Montraville,  at 
parting,  would  earnestly  entreat  one 
more  interview  that  treacherous  heart 
betrayed  her,  and  forgetful  of  its  reso- 
lution, pleaded  the  cause  of  the  enemy 
so  powerfully,  that  Charlotte  was  un- 
able to  resist.  Another  and  another 
meeting  succeeded;  and  so  well  did 
Montraville  improve  each  opportunity, 
that  the  heedless  girl  at  length  confessed 
no  idea  could  be  so  painful  to  her  as  that 
of  never  seeing  him  again. 

"  Then  we  will  never  be  parted,"  said 
he. 

81 


82 


Charlotte  Temple. 


"  Ah,  Montraville  !  "  replied  Char- 
lotte, forcing  a  smile,  "  how  can  it  be 
avoided?  My  parents  would  never  con- 
sent to  our  union;  and  even  could  they 
be  brought  to  approve  of  it,  how  could  I 
bear  to  be  separated  from  my  kind,  my 
beloved  mother?  " 

"  Then  you  love  your  parents  more 
than  you  do  me,  Charlotte?  " 

"  I  hope  I  do,"  said  she,  blushing  and 
looking  down ;  "  I  hope  my  affection  for 
them  will  ever  keep  me  from  infringing 
the  laws  of  filial  duty." 

"  Well,  Charlotte,"  said  Montraville, 
gravely,  and  letting  go  her  hand,  "  since 
that  is  the  case,  I  find  I  have  deceived 
myself  with  fallacious  hopes.  I  had 
flattered  my  fond  heart  that  I  was  dearer 
to  Charlotte  than  anything  in  the  world 
besides.  I  thought  that  you  would  for 
my  sake  have  braved  fhe  danger  of  the 
ocean — that  you  would,  by  your  affec- 
tion and  smiles,  have  softened  the  hard- 


Charlotte  Temple. 


83 


ships  of  war;  and  had  it  been  my  fate  to 
fall,  that  your  tenderness  would  cheer 
the  hour  of  death,  and  smooth  my  pass- 
age to  another  world.  But  farewell, 
Charlotte !  I  see  you  never  loved  me.  I 
shall  now  welcome  the  friendly  ball  that 
deprives  me  of  the  sense  of  my  misery." 

"  Oh,  stay,  unkind  Montraville,"  cried 
she,  catching  hold  of  his  arm,  as  he  pre- 
tended to  leave  her — stay;  and  to  calm 
your  fears,  I  will  here  protest,  that  were 
it  not  for  the  fear  of  giving  pain  to  the 
best  of  parents,  and  returning  their 
kindness  with  ingratitude,  I  would  fol- 
low you  through  every  danger,  and  in 
studying  to  promote  your  happiness,  in- 
sure my  own.  But  I  cannot  break  my 
mother's  heart,  Montraville;  I  must  not 
bring  the  gray  hairs  of  my  doting  grand- 
father with  sorrow  to  the  grave,  or  make 
my  beloved  father  perhaps  curse  the 
hour  that  gave  me  birth/' 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands 
and  burst  into  tears. 


84  Charlotte  Temple. 


"  All  these  distressing  scenes,  my  dear 
Charlotte/'  cried  Montraville,  "  are 
merely  the  chimeras  of  a  disturbed 
fancy.  Your  parents  might  perhaps 
grieve  at  first,  but  when  they  heard 
from  your  own  hands  that  you  were 
with  a  man  of  honor,  and  that  it  was  to 
insure  your  felicity  by  a  union  with 
him,  that  you  left  their  protection,  they 
will,  be  assured,  forgive  an  error  which 
love  alone  occasioned,  and  when  we  re- 
turn from  America,  receive  you  with 
open  arms  and  tears  of  joy." 

Belcour  and  mademoiselle  heard  this 
last  speech,  and  conceiving  it  a  proper 
time  to  throw  in  their  advice  and  per- 
suasions, approached  Charlotte,  and  so 
well  seconded  the  entreaties  of  Montra- 
ville, that  finding  that  mademoiselle  in- 
tended going  with  Belcour,  and  feeling 
that  her  own  treacherous  heart  too  much 
inclined  to  accompany  them,  the  hap- 
less Charlotte  consented  in  an  evil  hour 


Charlotte  Temple.  85 


that  the  next  evening  they  would  bring 
a  chaise  to  the  end  of  the  town,  and 
that  she  would  leave  her  friends,  and 
throw  herself  entirely  on  the  protection 
of  Montraville. 

"  But  should  you,"  said  she,  looking 
earnestly  at  him,  her  eyes  full  of  tears, 
"  should  you,  forgetful  of  your  prom- 
ises, and  repenting  the  engagements  you 
here  voluntarily  enter  into,  forsake  and 
leave  me  on  a  foreign  shore  " 

"  Judge  not  so  meanly  of  me,"  said 
he.  "  The  moment  we  reach  our  place 
of  destination,  Hymen  shall  sanction  our 
love,  and  when  I  forget  your  goodness 
may  Heaven  forget  me!  " 

"  Ah,"  said  Charlotte,  leaning  on 
mademoiselle's  arm,  as  they  walked  up 
the  garden  together,  "  I  have  forgotten 
all  that  I  ought  to  have  remembered,  in 
consenting  to  this  intended  elopement." 

"  You  are  a  strange  girl,"  said  mad- 
emoiselle; "you  never  know  your  own 


86  Charlotte  Temple. 


mind  two  minutes  at  a  time.  Just  now 
you  declared  Montraville's  happiness 
was  what  you  prized  most  in  the  world; 
and  now  I  suppose  you  repent  having 
insured  that  happiness  by  agreeing  to 
accompany  him  abroad." 

"  Indeed,  I  do  repent/'  replied  Char- 
lotte, "  from  my  soul ;  but  while  discre- 
tion points  out  the  impropriety  of  my 
conduct,  inclination  urges  me  on  to 
ruin." 

"Ruin!  fiddlesticks!  "  said  mademois- 
elle. "  Am  not  I  going  with  you,  and 
do  I  feel  any  of  these  qualms? 99 

"  You  do  not  renounce  a  tender  father 
and  mother,"  said  Charlotte. 

"  But  I  hazard  my  reputation,"  re- 
plied mademoislle,  bridling. 

"  True,"  replied  Charlotte,  "  but  you 
do  not  feel  what  I  do."  She  then  bade 
her  good-night,  but  sleep  was  a  stranger 
to  her  eyes,  and  the  tear  of  anguish  wa- 
tered her  pillow. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


Nature's  last,  best  gift, 
Creature  in  whom  excelPd  whatever  could 
To  sight  or  thought  be  named 
Holy,  divine!  good,  amiable  and  sweet, 
How  art  thou  fall'n!  

When  Charlotte  left  her  restless  bed, 
her  languid  eyes  and  pale  cheek  discov- 
ered to  Madame  Du  Pont  the  little  re- 
pose she  had  tasted. 

"  My  dear  child/'  said  the  affection- 
ate governess,  "  what  is  the  cause  of  the 
langor  so  apparent  in  your  frame?  Are 
you  not  well  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear  madame,  very  well,"  re- 
plied Charlotte,  attempting  to  smile, 
"  but  I  know  not  how  it  was,  I  could  not 
sleep  last  night,  and  my  spirits  are  de- 
pressed this  morning." 

"  Come,  cheer  up,  my  love,"  said  the 
governess ;  "  I  believe  I  have  brought  a 
cordial  to  revive  them.    I  have  just  re- 

87 


88  Charlotte  Temple. 


ceived  a  letter  from  your  good  mamma, 
and  here  is  one  for  yourself." 

Charlotte  hastily  took  the  letter;  it 
contained  these  words: 

"As  to-morrow  is  the  anniversary  of 
the  happy  day  that  gave  my  beloved  girl 
to  the  anxious  wishes  of  a  maternal 
heart,  I  have  requested  your  governess 
to  let  you  come  home  and  spend  it  with 
us,  and  as  I  know  you  to  be  a  good,  af- 
fectionate child,  and  make  it  your  study 
to  improve  in  those  branches  of  educa- 
tion which  you  know  will  give  most 
pleasure  to  your  delighted  parents,  as  a 
reward  for  your  diligence  and  attention, 
I  have  prepared  an  agreeable  surprise 
for  your  reception.  Your  grandfather, 
eager  to  embrace  the  darling  of  his  aged 
heart,  will  come  in  the  chaise  for  you; 
so  hold  yourself  in  readiness  to  attend 
him  by  nine  o'clock.  Your  dear  father 
joins  in  every  tender  wish  for  your 
health  and  future  felicity  which  warms 


Charlotte  Temple. 


89 


the  heart  of  my  dear  Charlotte's  affec- 
tionate mother. 

L.  Temple." 

"  Gracious  Heaven!  "  cried  Charlotte, 
forgetting  where  she  was,  and  raising 
her  streaming  eyes  as  if  in  earnest  sup- 
plication. 

Madame  Du  Pont  was  surprised. 

"  Why  these  tears,  my  love  ?  "  said 
she.  "  Why  this  seeming  agitation  ?  I 
thought  the  letter  would  have  rejoiced, 
instead  of  distressing  you." 

"  It  does  rejoice  me,"  replied  Char-  . 
lotte,  endeavoring  at  composure ;  "  but  I 
was  praying  for  merit  to  deserve  the  un- 
remitted attentions  of  the  best  of  par- 
ents." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Madame  Du 
Pont,  "  to  ask  the  assistance  of  Heaven 
that  you  may  continue  to  deserve  their 
love.  Continue,  my  dear  Charlotte,  in 
the  course  you  have  ever  pursued,  and 


90  Charlotte  Temple. 


you  will  insure  at  once  their  happiness 
and  your  own." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Charlotte,  as  her  gov- 
erness left  her,  "  I  have  forfeited  both 
forever.  Yet  let  me  reflect;  the  irre- 
vocable step  is  not  yet  taken ;  it  is  not  yet 
too  late  to  recede  from  the  brink  of  a 
precipice  from  which  I  can  only  behold 
the  dark  abyss  of  ruin,  shame  and  re- 
morse." 

She  arose  from  her  seat,  and  flew  to 
the  apartment  of  La  Rue. 

"  Oh,  mademoiselle,"  said  she,  "  I  am 
snatched  by  a  miracle  from  destruction! 
This  letter  has  saved  me;  it  has  opened 
my  eyes  to  the  folly  I  was  so  near  com- 
mitting. I  will  not  go,  mademoselle;  I 
will  not  wound  the  hearts  of  those  dear 
parents  who  make  my  happiness  the 
whole  study  of  their  lives." 

"  Well,"  said  mademoiselle,  "  do  as 
you  please,  miss,  but  pray  understand 
that  my  resolution  is  taken,  and  it  is  not 


Charlotte  Temple. 


91 


in  your  power  to  alter  it.  I  shall  meet 
the  gentlemen  at  the  appointed  hour, 
and  shall  not  be  surprised  at  any  out- 
rage which  Montraville  may  commit 
when  he  finds  himself  disappointed.  In- 
deed, I  should  not  be  astonished  were  he 
to  come  immediately  here  and  reproach 
you  for  your  instability  in  the  hearing 
of  the  whole  school;  and  what  will  be  the 
consequence?  You  will  bear  the  odium 
of  having  formed  the  resolution  of  elop- 
ing, and  every  girl  of  spirit  will  laugh 
at  your  want  of  fortitude  to  put  it  into 
execution,  while  prudes  and  fools  will 
load  you  with  reproach  and  contempt. 
You  will  have  lost  the  confidence  of  your 
parents,  incurred  their  anger  and  the 
scoffs  of  the  world;  and  what  fruit  do 
you  expect  to  reap  from  this  piece  of 
heroism,  for  such,  no  doubt,  you  think 
it  is?  You  will  have  the  pleasure  to  re- 
flect that  you  have  deceived  the  man 
who  adores  you,  and  whom,  in  your 


92 


Charlotte  Temple. 


heart,  you  prefer  to  all  other  men,  and 
that  you  are  separated  from  him  for- 
ever." 

This  eloquent  harangue  was  given 
with  such  volubility  that  Charlotte  did 
not  find  an  opportunity  to  interrupt  her 
or  to  offer  a  single  word  until  the  whole 
was  finished,  and  then  found  her  ideas 
so  confused  that  she  knew  not  what  to 
say. 

At  length  she  determined  that  she 
would  go  with  mademoiselle  to  the  place 
of  assignation,  convince  Montraville  of 
the  necessity  of  adhering  to  the  resolu- 
tion of  remaining  behind,  assure  him  of 
her  affection,  and  bid  him  adieu. 

Charlotte  formed  this  plan  in  her 
head,  and  exulted  at  the  certainty  of  its 
success. 

"  How  shall  I  rejoice,"  said  she,  "  in 
this  triumph  of  reason  over  inclination; 
and  when  in  the  arms  of  my  affectionate 
parents,  I  lift  up  my  soul  in  gratitude 


Charlotte  Temple.  93 


to  Heaven  as  I  look  back  on  the  dangers 
I  have  escaped  !  " 

The  hour  of  assignation  arrived; 
mademoiselle  put  what  money  and  val- 
uables she  possessed  in  her  pocket,  and 
advised  Charlotte  to  do  the  same,  but  she 
refused.  "  My  resolution  is  fixed," 
said  she;  "I  will  sacrifice  love  to  duty." 

Mademoiselle  smiled  internally;  and 
they  proceeded  softly  down  the  back 
stairs  and  out  of  the  garden  gate.  Mon- 
traville  and  Belcour  were  ready  to  re- 
ceive them. 

"  Now,"  said  Montraville,  taking 
Charlotte  in  his  arms,  "  you  are  mine 
forever." 

"  No,"  said  she,  withdrawing  from  his 
embrace ;  "I  am  come  to  take  an  ever- 
lasting farewell." 

It  would  be  useless  to  repeat  the  con- 
versation that  here  ensued;  suffice  it  to 
say,  that  Montraville  used  every  argu- 
ment that  had  formerly  been  successful, 


94  Charlotte  Temple. 


Charlotte's  resolution  began  to  waver, 
and  he  drew  her  almost  imperceptibly 
toward  the  chaise. 

"  I  cannot  go/'  said  she,  "  cease,  dear 
Montraville,  to  persuade.  I  must  not — 
religion,  duty,  forbid." 

"  Cruel  Charlotte  !  "  said  he,  "  if  you 
disappoint  my  ardent  hopes,  by  all  that  is 
sacred!  this  hand  shall  put  a  period  to 
my  existence.  I  cannot — will  not — 
live  without  you." 

"Alas!  my  torn  heart,"  said  Char- 
lotte, "  how  shall  I  act  ?  " 

"  Let  me  direct  you,"  said  Montra- 
ville,  lifting  her  into  the  chaise. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  forsaken  parents  !  " 
cried  Charlotte. 

The  chaise  drove  off.  She  shrieked 
and  fainted  in  the  arms  of  her  betrayer. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


CRUEL  DISAPPOINTMENT. 

"  What  pleasure  !  "  cried  Mr.  El- 
dridge,  as  he  stepped  into  the  chaise  to 
go  for  his  granddaughter,  "  what  pleas- 
ure expands  the  heart  of  an  old  man 
when  he  beholds  the  progeny  of  a  be- 
loved child  growing  up  in  every  virtue 
that  adorned  the  minds  of  her  parents. 
I  foolishly  thought,  some  few  years 
since,  that  every  sense  of  joy  was  buried 
in  the  grave  of  my  dear  partner  and  my 
son,  but  my  Lucy,  by  her  filial  affection, 
soothed  my  soul  to  peace,  and  this  dear 
Charlotte  has  entwined  herself  around 
my  heart,  and  opened  such  new  scenes 
of  delight  to  my  view  that  I  almost  for- 
get that  I  have  ever  been  unhappy." 

When  the  chaise  stopped  he  alighted 
with  the  alacrity  of  youth,  so  much  do 

95 


96  Charlotte  Temple. 

the  emotions  of  the  soul  influence  the 
body. 

It  was  half-past  eight  o'clock;  the  la- 
dies were  assembled  in  the  school-room, 
and  Madame  Du  Pont  was  preparing  to 
offer  the  morning  sacrifice  of  prayer  and 
praise,  when  it  was  discovered  that  made- 
moiselle and  Charlotte  were  missing. 

"  She  is  busy,  no  doubt,"  said  the  gov- 
erness, "  in  preparing  Charlotte  for  her 
little  excursion;  but  pleasure  should 
never  make  us  forget  our  duty  to  our 
Creator  Go,  one  of  you,  and  bid  them 
both  attend  prayers." 

The  lady  who  went  to  summon  them 
soon  returned,  and  informed  the  gover- 
ness that  the  room  was  locked,  and  that 
she  had  knocked  repeatedly,  but  received 
no  answer. 

"  Good  Heaven  !  "  cried  Madame  Du 
Pont,  "  this  is  very  strange  ;  "  and  turn- 
ing pale  with  terror,  she  went  hastily  to 
the  door,  and  ordered  it  to  be  forced 


Charlotte  Temple. 


97 


open.  The  apartment  instantly  dis- 
closed the  fact  that  no  person  had  been 
in  it  the  preceding  night,  the  beds  ap- 
pearing as  though  just  made.  The 
house  was  instantly  a  scene  of  confusion ; 
the  garden,  the  pleasure  grounds,  were 
searched  to  no  purpose;  every  apartment 
rung  with  the  names  of  Miss  Temple  and 
mademoiselle;  but  they  were  too  distant 
to  hear;  and  every  face  wore  the  marks 
of  disappointment. 

Mr.  Eldridge  was  sitting  in  the  par- 
lor, eagerly  expecting  his  granddaughter 
to  descend,  ready  equipped  for  her  jour- 
ney; he  heard  the  confusion  that  reigned 
in  the  house — he  heard  the  name  of 
Charlotte  frequently  repeated. 

"  What  can  be  the  matter  ?  "  said  he, 
rising,  and  opening  the  door ;  "  I  fear 
some  accident  has  befallen  my  dear  girl." 

The  governess  entered.  The  visible 
agitation  of  her  countenance  discovered 
that  something  extraordinary  had  hap- 
pened. 


98  Charlotte  Temple. 


"  Where  is  Charlotte  % "  said  he. 
u  Why  does  not  my  child  come  to  wel- 
come her  doting  parent  ?  " 

"  Be  composed,  my  dear  sir,"  said 
Madame  Du  Pont ;  "  do  not  frighten 
yourself  nnnecessarily.  She  is  not  in 
the  house  at  present ;  but  as  mademoiselle 
is  undoubtedly  with  her,  she  will  speed- 
ily return  in  safety,  and  I  hope  they  will 
both  be  able  to  account  for  this  unsea- 
sonable absence  in  such  a  manner  as 
shall  remove  our  present  uneasiness. " 

"  Madame,"  cried  the  old  man,  with 
an  angry  look,  "  has  my  child  been  ac- 
customed to  go  out  without  leave,  with 
no  other  company  or  protector  than  that 
French-woman?  Pardon  me,  madame, 
I  mean  no  reflection  on  your  country, 
but  I  never  did  like  Mademoiselle  La 
Rue;  I  think  she  is  a  very  improper  per- 
son to  be  intrusted  with  the  care  of  such 
a  girl  as  Charlotte  Temple,  or  to  be  suf- 
fered to  take  her  from  under  your  im- 
mediate protection." 


Charlotte  Temple.  99 


"  You  wrong  me,  Mr.  Eldridge,"  said 
she,  "  if  you  suppose  I  have  ever  per- 
mitted your  granddaughter  to  go  out, 
unless  with  the  other  ladies.  I  would  to 
Heaven  I  could  form  any  probable  con- 
jecture concerning  her  absence  this 
morning,  but  it  is  a  mystery  to  me, 
which  her  return  can  alone  unravel." 

Servants  were  now  dispatched  to  every 
place  where  there  was  the  least  hope  of 
hearing  any  tidings  of  the  fugitives,  but 
in  vain. 

Dreadful  were  the  hours  of  horrid 
suspense  which  Mr.  Eldridge  passed  till 
twelve  o'clock,  when  the  suspense  was 
reduced  to  a  shocking  certainty,  and  ev- 
ery spark  of  hope,  which  till  then  they 
had  indulged,  was  in  a  moment  extin- 
guished. 

Mr.  Eldridge  was  preparing,  with  a 
heavy  heart,  to  return  to  his  anxiously- 
expecting  children,  when  Madame  Du 
Pont  received  the  following  note,  with- 
out either  name  or  date: 


100  Charlotte  Temple. 


"  Miss  Temple  is  well,  and  wishes  to 
relieve  the  anxiety  of  her  parents,  by  let- 
ting them  know  she  has  voluntarily  put 
herself  under  the  protection  of  a  man 
whose  future  study  shall  be  to  make  her 
happy.  Pursuit  is  needless;  the  meas- 
ures taken  to  avoid  discovery  are  too  ef- 
fectual to  be  eluded.  When  she  thinks 
her  friends  are  reconciled  to  this  pre- 
cipitate step,  they  may,  perhaps,  be  in- 
formed of  her  place  of  residence.  Made- 
moiselle is  with  her." 

As  Mademoiselle  Du  Pont  read  these 
cruel  lines,  she  turned  as  pale  as  ashes, 
her  limbs  trembled,  and  she  was  forced 
to  call  for  a  glass  of  water.  She  loved 
Charlotte  truly;  and  when  she  reflected 
on  the  innocence  and  gentleness  of  hei 
disposition,  she  concluded  it  must  have 
been  the  advice  and  machinations  of  La 
Rue  which  led  her  to  this  imprudent  ac- 
tion ;  she  recollected  her  agitation  on  the 
receipt  of  her  mother's  letter,  and  saw 
in  it  the  conflict  of  her  mind. 


Charlotte  Temple.  101 


"  Does  the  letter  relate  to  Charlotte?  " 
said  Mr.  Eldridge,  having  waited  some 
time  in  expectation  of  Madame  Du 
Pont's  speaking. 

It  does,"  she  said.  "  Charlotte  is 
well,  but  cannot  return  to-day." 

"  Xot  return,  madame!  Where  is  she? 
Who  will  detain  her  from  her  fond,  ex- 
pecting parents  ?  " 

"  You  distract  me  with  these  ques- 
tions, Mr.  Eldridge.  Indeed,  I  do  not 
know  where  she  is,  or  who  has  seduced 
her  from  her  duty." 

The  whole  truth  now  rushed  at  once 
upon  Mr.  Eldridge's  mind 

"  She  has  eloped,  then,"  said  he;  "  my 
child  is  betrayed;  the  darling,  the  com- 
fort of  my  aged  heart  is  lost !  Oh,  would 
to  heaven  I  had  died  but  yesterday." 

A  violent  gush  of  grief  in  some  meas- 
ure relieved  him,  and  after  several  vain 
attempts,  he  at  length  assumed  sufficient 
composure  to  read  the  note. 


102  Charlotte  Temple. 


"And  how  shall  I  return  to  my  chil- 
dren ?  "  said  he.  "  How  approach  that 
mansion  so  late  the  habitation  of  peace? 
Alas!  my  clear  Lucy,  how  will  you  sup- 
port these  heart-rending  tidings?  or  how 
shall  I  be  enabled  to  console  you,  who 
need  so  much  consolation  myself  ?  " 

The  old  man  returned  to  the  chaise, 
but  the  light  step  and  cheerful  counten- 
ance were  no  more;  sorrow  filled  his 
heart  and  guided  his  emotions. 

He  seated  himself  in  the  chaise;  his 
venerable  head  reclined  upon  his  bosom, 
his  hands  were  folded,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
vacancy,  and  the  large  drops  of  sorrow 
rolled  silently  down  his  cheeks. 

There  was  a  mixture  of  anguish  and 
resignation  depicted  in  his  countenance, 
as  if  he  should  say: 

"  Henceforth,  who  shall  dare  to  boast 
his  happiness,  or  even  in  idea  contem- 
plate its  treasure,  lest  in  the  very  mo- 
ment his  heart  is  exulting  in  his  own 


Charlotte  Temple.  103 


felicity,  the  object  which  constitutes  that 
felicity  should  be  torn  from  him  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MATERNAL  SORROW. 

Slow  and  heavy  passed  the  time  while 
the  carriage  was  conveying  Mr.  Eldridge 
home ;  and  yet,  when  he  came  in  sight  of 
the  house,  he  wished  a  long  reprieve 
from  the  dreadful  task  of  informing  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Temple  of  their  daughter's 
elopement. 

It  is  easy  to  judge  the  anxiety  of  these 
affectionate  parents,  when  they  found 
the  return  of  their  father  delayed  so 
much  beyond  the  expected  time. 

They  were  now  met  in  the  dining- 
parlor,  and  several  of  the  young  people 
who  had  been  invited  were  already  ar- 
rived. 


104  Charlotte  Temple. 


Each  different  part  of  the  company 
was  employed  in  the  same  manner — 
looking  out  at  the  windows  which  faced 
the  road. 

At  length  the  long-expected  chaise  ap- 
peared. 

Mrs.  Temple  ran  out  to  receive  and 
welcome  her  darling — her  young  com- 
panions flocked  around  the  door,  each 
one  eager  to  give  her  joy  on  the  return 
of  her  birthday. 

The  door  of  the  chaise  was  opened. 
Charlotte  was  not  there. 

"  Where  is  my  child  ?  "  cried  Mrs. 
Temple,  in  breathless  agitation. 

Mr.  Eldridge  could  not  answer;  he 
took  hold  of  his  daughter's  hand  and  led 
her  into  the  house,  and  sinking  on  the 
first  chair  he  came  to,  he  burst  into  tears, 
and  sobbed  aloud. 

"  She  is  dead  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Temple. 
"  Oh,  my  dear  Charlotte  ?  "  and,  clasp- 
ing her  hands  in  an  agony  of  distress, 
fell  into  strong  hysterics. 


Charlotte  Temple.  105 


Mr.  Temple,  who  had  stood  speechless 
with  surprise  and  fear,  now  ventured  to 
inquire  if  indeed  his  Charlotte  was  no 
more. 

Mr.  Eldridge  led  him  into  another 
apartment,  and  putting  the  fatal  note 
into  his  hand,  cried:  "Bear  it  like  a 
Christian  !  "  and  turned  from  him,  en- 
deavoring to  suppress  his  own  too  visible 
emotion. 

It  would  be  vain  to  attempt  describing 
what  Mr.  Temple  felt  while  he  hastily 
ran  over  the  dreadful  lines.  When  he 
had  finished,  the  paper  dropped  from  his 
unnerved  hand. 

"  Gracious  Heaven  !  "  said  he,  "  could 
Charlotte  act  thus  ?  " 

X  either  tear  nor  sigh  escaped  him, 
and  he  sat  the  image  of  mute  sorrow,  till 
aroused  from  his  stupor  by  the  repeated 
shrieks  of  Mrs.  Temple. 

He  arose  hastily,  and  rushing  into  the 
apartment  where  she  was,  folded  his 


106  Charlotte  Temple. 


arms  about  her,  and  saying,  "  Let  us  be 
patient,  my  dear  Lucy,"  nature  relieved 
his  almost  bursting  heart  by  a  friendly 
gush  of  tears. 

Should  any  one,  presuming  on  his 
own  philosophic  temper,  look  with  an 
eye  of  contempt  on  a  man  who  could  in- 
dulge in  a  woman's  weakness,  let  him 
remember  that  that  man  was  a  father, 
and  he  will  then  pity  the  misery  which 
wrung  those  drops  from  a  noble  and  gen- 
erous heart. 

Mrs.  Temple,  beginning  to  be  a  lit- 
tle more  composed,  but  still  imagining 
her  child  to  be  dead,  her  husband,  gently 
taking  her  hand,  cried: 

"  You  are  mistaken,  my  love.  Char- 
lotte is  not  dead." 

"  Then  she  is  very  ill ;  else  why  did 
she  not  come?  But  I  will  go  to  her; 
the  chaise  is  still  at  the  door;  let  me  go 
instantly  to  the  dear  girl.  If  I  was  ill, 
she  would  fly  to  attend  me,  to  alleviate 


Charlotte  Temple.  107 


my  sufferings,  and  cheer  me  with  her 
love." 

"  Be  calm,  my  dearest  Lucy,  and  T 
will  tell  you  all,"  said  Mr.  Temple. 
"  You  must  not  go ;  indeed  you  must  not ; 
it  will  be  of  no  use." 

"  Temple,"  said  she,  assuming  a  look 
of  firmness  and  composure,  "  tell  me  the 
truth,  I  beseech  you !  I  cannot  bear  this 
dreadful  suspense.  What  misfortune 
has  befallen  my  child?  Let  me  know 
the  worst,  I  will  endeavor  to  bear  it  as  I 
ought." 

"  Lucy,"  said  Mr.  Temple,  "  imagine 
your  daughter  alive,  and  in  no  danger  of 
death,  what  misfortune  would  you  then 
dread  ?  " 

"  There  is  one  misfortune  that  is 
worse  than  death.  But  I  know  my  child 
too  well  to  suspect  " 

"  Be  not  too  confident,  Lucy." 

"  Oh,  Heaven  !  "  said  she,  "  what  hor- 
rid images  do  you  start?  Is  it  possible 
that  she  should  forget  ?  " 


108  Charlotte  Temple. 


"She  has  forgotten  us  all,  my  love; 
she  has  preferred  the  love  of  a  stranger 
to  the  affectionate  protection  of  her 
friends." 

"  Not  eloped  !  "  cried  she,  eagerly. 

Mr.  Temple  was  silent. 

"  Yon  cannot  contradict,"  said  she. 
"  I  see  my  fate  in  those  tearful  eyes.  Oh, 
Charlotte — Charlotte!  how  ill  you  have 
requited  our  tenderness.  But,  Father  of 
Mercies,"  continued  she,  sinking  on  her 
knees  and  raising  her  streaming  eyes  and 
clasped  hands  to  Heaven,  "  this  once 
vouchsafe  to  hear  a  fond,  distracted 
mother's  prayer.  Oh,  let  thy  bounteous 
Providence  watch  over  the  dear, 
thoughtless  girl,  save  her  from  the  mis- 
eries which  I  fear  will  be  her  portion; 
and,  oh!  of  Thine  infinite  mercy,  make 
her  not  a  mother,  lest  she  should  some 
day  feel  what  I  now  suffer  !  " 

The  last  words  faltered  on  her  tongue, 
and  she  fell  fainting  into  the  arms  of 


Charlotte  Temple.  101) 


her  husband,  who  had  voluntarily 
dropped  on  his  knees  beside  her. 

A  mother's  anguish,  when  disappoint- 
ed in  her  tenderest  hopes,  none  but  a 
mother  can  conceive.  Yet,  my  dear 
young  readers,  I  would  have  you  read 
this  scene  with  attention,  and  reflect  that 
you  may  yourselves  one  day  be  mothers. 

Oh,  my  friends,  as  you  value  your 
eternal  happiness,  wound  not,  by 
thoughtless  ingratitude,  the  peace  of  the 
mother  who  bore  you.  Kemember  the 
tenderness,  the  care,  and  unremitting 
anxiety  with  which  she  has  attended  to 
all  your  wants  and  wishes  from  earliest 
infancy  to  the  present  clay.  Behold  the 
mild  ray  of  affectionate  applause  that 
beams  from  her  eye  on  the  performance 
of  your  duty ;  listen  to  her  reproofs  with 
silent  attention;  they  proceed  from  a 
heart  anxious  for  your  future  felicity; 
you  must  love  her;  nature,  all-powerful 
nature,  has  placed  the  seeds  of  filial  affec- 
tion in  your  bosoms. 


110  Charlotte  Temple. 


Then,  once  more  read  over  the  sor- 
rows of  poor  Mrs.  Temple;  remember, 
the  mother  whom  you  so  dearly  love  and 
venerate  will  feel  the  same,  should  you, 
forgetful  of  the  respect  due  to  your 
Maker  and  yourself,  forsake  the  paths  of 
virtue,  for  those  of  vice  and  folly. 


CHAPTEE  XV. 

EMBARKATION. 

It  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that 
the  united  efforts  of  mademoiselle  and 
Montraville  could  support  Charlotte's 
spirits  during  their  short  ride  from  Chi- 
chester to  Portsmouth,  where  a  boat 
waited  to  take  them  immediately  on 
board  the  ship  in  which  they  were  about 
to  embark  for  America. 

As  soon  as  she  became  tolerably  com- 


Charlotte  Temple.  Ill 


posed,  she  entreated  pen  and  ink  to  write 
to  her  parents.  This  she  did  in  the  most 
affecting,  artless  manner,  entreating 
their  pardon  and  blessing,  and  describing 
the  dreadful  situation  of  her  mind,  the 
conflict  she  suffered  in  endeavoring  to 
conquer  this  unfortunate  attachment, 
and  concluded  with  saying  her  only  hope 
of  future  comfort  consisted  in  the  (per- 
haps delusive)  idea  she  indulged,  of  be- 
ing once  more  folded  in  their  protecting 
arms,  and  hearing  the  words  of  peace  and 
pardon  from  their  lips. 

The  tears  streamed  incessantly  while 
she  was  writing,  and  she  was  frequently 
obliged  to  lay  down  her  pen;  but  when 
the  task  was  completed,  and  she  had  com- 
mitted the  letter  to  the  care  of  Montra- 
ville,  to  be  sent  to  the  postofflce,  she  be- 
came more  calm,  and  indulging  the  de- 
lightful hope  of  soon  receiving  an  answer 
that  would  seal  her  pardon,  she  in  some 
measure  assumed  her  usual  cheerfulness. 


112  Charlotte  Temple. 


But  Montraville  knew  too  well  the 
consequences  that  must  unavoidably  en- 
sue should  this  letter  reach  Mr.  Temple; 
he,  therefore,  craftily  resolved  to  walk 
on  the  deck,  tear  it  to  pieces,  and  com- 
mit the  fragments  to  the  care  of  Nep- 
tune, who  might  or  might  not,  as  it  suit- 
ed his  convenience,  convey  them  on 
shore. 

All  Charlotte's  hopes  and  wishes  were 
now  centered  in  one,  namely,  that  the 
fleet  be  detained  at  Spithead  till  she 
might  receive  a  letter  from  her  friends; 
but  in  this  she  was  disappointed,  for  the 
second  morning  after  she  went  on  board 
the  signal  was  made,  the  fleet  weighed 
anchor,  and  in  a  few  hours,  the  wind  be- 
ing favorable,  they  bade  adieu  to  the 
white  cliffs  of  Albion. 

In  the  meantime  every  inquiry  that 
could  be  thought  of  was  made  by  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Temple;  for  many  days  did 
they  indulge  the  fond  hope  that  she  was 


Charlotte  Temple. 


113 


merely  gone  off  to  be  married,  and  that 
when  the  indissoluble  knot  was  once  tied, 
she  would  return  with  the  partner  she 
had  chosen  and  entreat  their  blessing  and 
forgiveness. 

"And  shall  we  not  forgive  her  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Temple. 

"  Forgive  her  !  "  exclaimed  the  moth- 
er. "Oh!  yes;  whatever  be  her  errors, 
is  she  not  our  child?  And  though  bow- 
ed even  to  the  earth  with  shame  and  re- 
morse, is  it  not  our  duty  to  raise  the  poor 
penitent  and  whisper  peace  and  comfort 
to  her  desponding  :oul  ?  "Would  she  but 
return,  with  rapture  would  I  fold  her  to 
my  heart  and  bury  every  remembrance 
of  her  faults  in  the  dear  embrace." 

But  still,  day  after  day  passed  on  and 
Charlotte  did  not  appear,  nor  were  any 
tidings  to  be  heard  of  her;  yet  each  ris- 
ing morning  was  welcomed  by  some  new 
hope.  The  evening  brought  with  it  dis- 
appointment.     At  length  hope  was  no 


114  Charlotte  Temple. 


more,  despair  usurped  her  place,  and  the 
mansion  that  was  once  the  mansion  of 
peace  became  the  habitation  of  pale,  de- 
jected melancholy. 

The  cheerful  smile  that  was  wont  to 
adorn  the  face  of  Mrs.  Temple  was  fled, 
and  had  it  not  been  for  the  support  of 
unaffected  piety,  and  a  consciousness  of 
having  ever  set  before  her  child  the  fair- 
est example,  she  must  have  sunk  under 
this  heavy  affliction. 

"  Since,"  said  she,  "  the  severest  scru- 
tiny cannot  charge  me  with  any  breach 
of  duty,  to  have  deserved  this  severe 
chastisement,  I  will  bow  before  the 
Power  who  inflicts  it  with  humble  resig- 
nation to  His  will,  nor  shall  the  duty  of 
a  wife  be  totally  absorbed  in  the  feelings 
of  the  mother;  I  will  endeavor  to  seem 
more  cheerful,  and  by  appearing  in  some 
measure  to  have  conquered  my  own  sor- 
row, alleviate  the  sufferings  of  my  hus- 
band, and  arouse  him  from  the  torpor 


Charlotte  Temple.  115 


into  which  this  misfortune  has  plunged 
him.  My  father,  too,  demands  my  care 
and  attention.  I  must  not,  by  a  selfish 
indulgence  of  my  own  grief,  forget  the 
interest  those  two  dear  objects  take  in 
my  happiness  or  misery.  I  will  wear  a 
smile  on  my  face,  though  the  thorn 
rankles  in  my  heart,  and  if  by  so  doing, 
I  contribute  in  the  smallest  degree  to  re- 
store their  peace  of  mind,  I  shall  be  am- 
ply rewarded  for  the  pain  the  conceal- 
ment of  my  own  feelings  may  occasion." 

Thus  argued  this  excellent  woman, 
and  in  the  execution  of  so  laudable  a 
resolution,  we  shall  leave  her  to  follow 
the  fortunes  of  the  hapless  victim  of  im- 
prudence and  evil  counselors. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


NECESSARY  DIGRESSION. 

Ox  board  of  the  ship  on  which  Char- 
lotte and  mademoiselle  were  embarked, 
was  an  officer  of  large,  unencumbered 
fortune  and  elevated  rank,  and  whom  I 
shall  call  Crayton. 

He  was  one  of  those  men  who,  having 
traveled  in  their  youth,  pretend  to  have 
contracted  a  peculiar  fondness  for  every- 
thing foreign,  and  to  hold  in  contempt 
the  productions  of  their  own  country, 
and  this  affected  partiality  extended  even 
to  the  women. 

With  him,  therefore,  the  blushing 
modesty  and  unaffected  simplicity  of 
Charlotte  passed  unnoticed,  but  the  for- 
ward pertness  of  La  Rue,  the  freedom  of 
her  conversation,  the  elegance  of  her  per- 

116 


Charlotte  Temple.  117 


son,  mixed  with  a  certain  engaging  je 
ne  sais  quoi,  perfectly  enchanted  him. 

The  reader,  no  doubt,  has  already  de- 
veloped the  character  of  La  Rue;  de- 
signing, artful  and  selfish,  she  accepted 
the  devoirs  of  Belcour  because  she  was 
heartily  weary  of  the  retired  life  she  led 
at  the  school,  wished  to  be  released  from 
what  she  deemed  a  slavery,  and  to  re- 
turn to  that  vortex  of  folly  and  dissipa- 
tion, which  had  once  plunged  her  into 
the  deepest  misery;  but  her  plan,  she 
flattered  herself,  was  now  better  formed ; 
she  resolved  to  put  herself  under  the  pro- 
tection of  no  man,  till  she  had  first  se- 
cured a  settlement;  but  the  clandestine 
manner  in  which  she  left  Madame  Du 
Pont's  prevented  her  putting  this  plan 
into  execution,  though  Belcour  solemn- 
ly protested  he  would  make  her  a  hand- 
some settlement  the  moment  they  arrived 
at  Portsmouth.  This  he  afterward  con- 
trived to  evade  by  a  pretended  hurry  of 
business.      La  Rue,  readily  conceiving 


118  Charlotte  Temple. 


he  never  meant  to  fulfill  his  promise,  de- 
termined to  change  her  battery,  and  at- 
tack the  heart  of  Colonel  Crayton.  She 
soon  discovered  the  partiality  he  enter- 
tained for  her  nation,  and  having  impos- 
ed on  him  a  feigned  tale  of  distress, 
represented  Belcour  as  a  villain  who  had 
seduced  her  from  her  friends  under  the 
promise  of  marriage,  and  afterward  be- 
trayed her;  pretending  great  remorse  for 
the  errors  she  had  committed,  and  de- 
claring that,  whatever  her  affection 
might  have  been,  it  was  now  entirely 
extinguished,  and  she  wished  for  noth- 
ing more  than  an  opportunity  to  leave  a 
course  of  life  which  her  soul  abhorred; 
but  she  had  no  friends  to  apply  to;  they 
had  all  renounced  her,  and  guilt  and 
misery  would  undoubtedly  be  her  future 
portion  through  life. 

Crayton  was  possessed  of  many  ami- 
able qualities,  though  the  peculiar  trait 
in  his  character,  which  we  have  already 


Charlotte  Temple.  119 


mentioned,  in  a  great  measure  threw  a 
shade  over  them.  He  was  beloved  for  his 
humanity  and  benevolence  by  all  who 
him,  but  he  was  easy  and  unsuspicious 
himself,  and  became  a  dupe  to  the  arti- 
fice of  others. 

He  was,  when  very  young,  united  to 
an  amiable  Parisian  lady,  and  perhaps 
it  was  his  affection  for  her  that  laid  the 
foundation  for  the  partiality  he  ever  re- 
tained for  the  whole  nation.  He  had  by 
her  one  daughter,  who  entered  into  the 
world  but  a  few  hours  before  her  mother 
left  it.  This  lady  was  universally  be- 
loved and  admired,  being  endowed  with 
all  the  virtues  of  her  mother,  without  the 
weakness  of  her  father.  She  was  mar- 
ried to  Major  Beauchamp,  and  was  at 
this  time  in  the  fleet  with  her  father,  at- 
tending her  husband  to  New  York. 

Crayton  was  melted  by  the  affected 
contrition  and  distress  of  La  Hue;  he 
would  converse  with  her  for  hours,  read 


120  Charlotte  Temple. 


to  her,  play  cards  with  her,  listen  to  all 
her  complaints,  and  promise  to  protect 
her  to  the  utmost  of  his  power.  La  Rue 
easily  saw  his  character ;  her  sole  aim  was 
to  awaken  a  passion  in  his  bosom  that 
might  turn  out  to  her  advantage,  and  in 
this  aim  she  was  but  too  successful;  for, 
before  the  voyage  was  finished,  the  in- 
fatuated colonel  gave  her  from  under  his 
hand  a  promise  of  marriage  on  their  ar- 
rival at  New  York,  under  forfeiture  of 
five  thousand  pounds. 

And  how  did  our  poor  Charlotte  pass 
her  time  during  a  tedious  and  tempest- 
uous passage?  Naturally  delicate,  the 
fatigue  and  sickness  she  endured  ren- 
dered her  so  weak  as  to  be  almost  entire- 
ly confined  to  her  bed;  yet  the  kindness 
and  attention  of  Montraville,  in  some 
measure  contributed  to  alleviate  her  suf- 
ferings, and  the  hope  of  hearing  from 
her  friends  soon  after  their  arrival,  kept 
up  her  spirits,  and  cheered  many  a 
gloomy  night. 


Charlotte  Temple.  121 


But  during  the  voyage  a  great  revolu- 
tion took  place,  not  only  in  the  fortune 
of  La  Rue,  but  in  the  bosom  of  Belcour. 
While  in  the  pursuit  of  his  amour  with 
mademoiselle,  he  had  attended  little  to 
the  interesting,  unobtrusive  charms  of 
Charlotte;  but  when,  cloyed  by  posses- 
sion, and  disgusted  with  the  art  and  dis- 
simulation of  the  one,  he  beheld  the  sim- 
plicity and  gentleness  of  the  other,  the 
contract  became  too  striking  not  to  fill 
him  at  once  with  surprise  and  admira- 
tion. He  frequently  conversed  with 
Charlotte;  he  found  her  sensible,  well 
informed,  but  diffident  and  unassuming. 
The  langor  which  the  fatigue  of  her 
body  and  perturbation  of  her  mind 
spread  over  her  delicate  features,  served 
only,  in  his  opinion,  to  render  her  more 
lovely;  he  knew  that  Montraville  did  noi: 
design  to  marry  her,  and  he  formed  a 
resolution  to  endeavor  to  gain  her  him- 
self, whenever  Montraville  should  leave 
her. 


122 


Charlotte  Temple. 


Let  not  the  reader  imagine  Belcour's 
designs  were  honorable.  Alas!  when 
once  a  woman  has  forgot  the  respect  due 
to  herself  by  yielding  to  the  solicitations 
of  illicit,  love,  she  loses  all  the  conse- 
quence, even  in  the  eyes  of  the  man 
whose  art  has  betrayed  her,  and  for 
whose  sake  she  has  sacrificed  every 
valuable  consideration. 

The  heedless  Fair,  who  stoops  to  guilty  joys, 
A  man  may  pity — but  he  must  despise. 

Nay,  every  libertine  will  think  he  has 
a  right  to  insult  her  with  his  licentious 
passions;  and  should  the  unhappy  creat- 
ure shrink  from  the  insolent  overture,  lie 
will  sneeringly  taunt  her  with  pretense 
of  modesty. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


A  WEDDING. 

On  the  day  before  their  arrival  at  New 
York,  after  dinner,  Crayton  arose  from 
his  seat,  and  placing  himself  by  made- 
moiselle, thus  addressed  the  company: 

"As  we  have  nearly  arrived  at  our  des- 
tined port,  I  think  it  but  my  duty  to  in- 
form you,  my  friends,  that  this  lady," 
(taking  her  hand)  "  has  placed  herself 
under  my  protection.  I  have  seen  and 
severely  felt  the  anguish  of  her  heart, 
and  through  every  shade  which  cruelty 
or  malice  may  throw  over  her,  can  dis- 
cover the  most  amiable  qualities.  I 
thought  it  but  necessary  to  mention  my 
esteem  for  her  before  our  disembarka- 
tion, as  it  is  my  fixed  resolution,  the 
morning  after  we  land,  to  give  her  an 
undoubted  title  to  my  favor  and  protec- 

123 


124  Charlotte  Temple. 


tion  by  honorably  uniting  my  fate  to 
hers.  I  would  wish  svery  gentleman 
hence,  therefore,  to  remember  that  her 
honor  henceforth  is  mine;  and,"  con- 
tinued he,  looking  at  iBelcour,  "  should 
any  man  presume  to  speak  in  the  least 
disrespectfully  of  her,  I  shall  not  hesi- 
tate to  pronounce  him  a  scoundrel." 

Belcour  cast  at  him  a  smile  of  con- 
tempt, and  bowed  profoundly  low;  he 
wished  mademoiselle  much  joy  in  the 
proposed  union;  and  assured  the  colonel 
that  he  need  not  be  in  the  least  appre- 
hensive of  any  one  throwing  the  least 
odium  on  the  character  of  his  lady,  shook 
him  by  the  hand  with  ridiculous  gravity, 
and  left  the  cabin. 

The  truth  was,  he  was  glad  to  get  rid 
of  La  Rue,  and  so  he  was  but  freed  from 
her,  he  cared  not  who  fell  a  victim  to 
her  infamous  arts. 

The  inexperienced  Charlotte  was  as- 
tonished at  what  she  heard.  She  thought 


Charlotte  Temple.  125 


La  Rue  had,  like  herself,  only  been 
urged  by  the  force  of  her  attachment  to 
Belcour,  to  quit  her  friends,  and  follow 
him  to  the  seat  of  war.  How  wonder- 
ful, then,  that  she  should  resolve  to 
marry  another  man!  It  was  certainly 
extremely  wrong.  It  was  indelicate. 
She  mentioned  her  thoughts  to  Montra- 
ville.  He  laughed  at  her  simplicity, 
called  her  a  little  idiot,  and  patting  her 
on  the  cheek,  said  she  knew  nothing  of 
the  world. 

"  If  the  world  sanctions  such  things, 
'tis  a  very  bad  world,  I  think,"  said 
Charlotte.  "  Why,  I  always  understood 
that  they  were  to  have  been  married 
when  they  arrived  at  New  York.  I  am 
sure  Mademoiselle  told  me  Belcour 
promised  to  marry  her. 

"  Well,  and  suppose  he  did  ?  " 

"  Why,  he  should  be  obliged  to  keep 
his  word,  I  think." 

"  Well,  but  I  suppose  he  has  changed 


126  Charlotte  Temple. 


his  mind,"  said  Montraville,  "  and  then, 
you  know,  the  case  is  altered." 

Charlotte  looked  at  him  attentively 
for  a  moment.  A  full  sense  of  her  own 
situation  rushed  upon  her  own  mind. 
She  burst  into  tears,  and  remained  silent. 
Montraville  too  well  understood  the 
cause  of  her  tears.  He  kissed  her  cheek, 
and  bidding  her  not  to  make  herself  un- 
easy, unable  to  bear  the  silent  but  keen 
remonstrance,  hastily  left  her. 

The  next  morning  by  sunrise  they 
found  themselves  at  anchor  before  the 
city  of  Xew  York.  A  boat  was  ordered 
to  convey  the  ladies  on  shore.  Crayton 
accompanied  them,  and  they  were  shown 
to  a  house  of  public  entertainment. 
Scarcely  were  they  seated,  when  the  door 
opened  and  the  colonel  found  himself  in 
the  arms  of  his  daughter,  who  had  land- 
ed a  few  minutes  before  him.  The  first 
transport  of  meeting  subsided,  Crayton 
introduced  his  daughter  to  Mademoiselle 


Charlotte  Temple.  127 

La  Rue  as  an  old  friend  of  her  mother's 
(for  the  artful  Frenchwoman  had  really 
made  it  appear  to  the  credulous  colonel 
that  she  was  in  the  same  convent  as  his 
first  wife,  and  though  much  younger, 
had  received  many  tokens  of  her  esteem 
and  regard). 

"  If,  mademoiselle,"  said  Mrs.  Beau- 
champ,  "  you  were  the  friend  of  my 
mother,  you  must  be  worthy  the  esteem 
of  all  good  hearts." 

"  Mademoiselle  will  soon  honor  our 
family,"  said  Crayton,  "  by  supplying 
the  place  that  valuable  woman  filled; 
and  as  you  are  married,  my  dear,  I  think 
you  will  not  blame  " 

"  Hush,  my  dear  sir,"  replied  Mrs. 
Beauchamp.  "  I  know  my  duty  too  well 
to  scrutinize  your  conduct.  Be  assured, 
my  dear  father,  your  happiness  is  mine. 
I  shall  rejoice  in  it.  But  tell  me,"  con- 
tinued she,  turning  to  Charlotte,  "  who 
is  this  lovely  girl?  Is  she  your  sister, 
mademoiselle  ? " 


128  Charlotte  Temple. 


A  blush,  deep  as  the  glow  of  the  car- 
nation, suffused  the  cheek  of  Charlotte. 

"  It  is  a  young  lady,"  replied  the 
colonel,  "  who  came  in  the  same  vessel 
with  us  from  England." 

•  He  then  drew  his  daughter  aside  and 
told  her  in  a  whisper,  that  Charlotte  was 
the  mistress  of  Montraville. 

"  What  a  pity  !  "  said  Mrs.  Beau- 
champ,  softly,  casting  a  most  compas- 
sionate glance  at  her.  "  But  surely  her 
mind  is  not  depraved.  The  goodness  of 
her  heart  is  depicted  in  her  ingenuous 
countenance." 

Charlotte  caught  the  word  pity. 

"And  am  I  already  fallen  so  low  ?  " 
said  she.  A  sigh  escaped  her,  and  a  tear 
was  ready  to  start,  but  Montraville  ap- 
peared, and  she  checked  the  rising  emo- 
tion. Mademoiselle  went  with  the  colo- 
nel and  his  daughter  to  another  apart- 
ment. Charlotte  remained  with  Mon- 
traville and  Belcour.     The  next  morn- 


Charlotte  Temple.  129 


ing  the  colonel  performed  his  promise, 
and  La  Rue  became  in  due  form  Mrs. 
Crayton,  exulted  in  her  good  fortune, 
and  dared  to  look  with  an  eye  of  con- 
tempt on  the  unfortunate  but  far  less 
guilty  Charlotte. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

REFLECTIONS. 

"And  am  I  indeed  fallen  so  low,"  said 
Charlotte,  "  as  to  be  only  pitied  ?  Will 
the  voice  of  approbation  no  more  meet 
my  ear  ?  And  shall  I  never  again  pos- 
sess a  friend  whose  face  will  wear  a  smile 
of  joy  whenever  I  approach?  Alas!  how 
thoughtless,  how  dreadfully  imprudent 
have  I  been!  I  know  not  which  is  the 
most  painful  to  endure — the  sneer  of 
contempt,  or  the  glance  of  compassion 


130  Charlotte  Temple. 


which  is  depicted  on  the  various  coun- 
tenances of  my  own  sex;  they  are  both 
equally  humiliating.  Ah !  my  dear  par- 
ents, could  you  now  see  the  child  of  your 
affections,  the  daughter  whom  you  so 
dearly  loved,  a  poor,  solitary  being,  with- 
out society,  here  wearing  out  her  heavy 
hours  in  deep  regret  and  anguish  of 
heart — no  kind  friend  of  her  owm  sex  to 
whom  she  can  unbosom  her  griefs,  no  be- 
loved mother,  no  woman  of  character  to 
appear  in  her  company;  and  low  as  your 
Charlotte  is  fallen,  she  cannot  associate 
with  infamy." 

These  wTere  the  painful  reflections 
which  occupied  the  mind  of  Charlotte. 
Montraville  had  placed  her  in  a  small 
house  a  few  miles  from  ^'ew  York.  He 
gave  her  one  female  attendant,  and  sup- 
plied her  with  what  money  she  wanted; 
but  business  and  pleasure  so  entirely  oc- 
cupied his  time,  that  he  had  but  little  to 
devote  to  the  woman  wdiom    he  had 


Charlotte  Temple.  131 


brought  from  all  her  connections,  and 
robbed  of  innocence.  Sometimes,  in- 
deed, he  would  steal  out  at  the  close  of 
the  evening,  and  pass  a  few  hours  with 
her.  And  then,  so  much  was  she  attach- 
ed to  him,  that  all  her  sorrows  were  for- 
gotten while  blessed  with  his  society. 
She  would  enjoy  a  walk  by  moonlight, 
or  sit  by  him  in  a  little  arbor  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  garden,  and  play  on  the  harp, 
accompanying  it  with  her  plaintive,  har- 
monious voice.  But  often,  very  often, 
did  he  promise  to  renew  his  visits,  and 
forgetful  of  his  promise,  leave  her  to 
mourn  her  disappointment.  What  pain- 
ful hours  of  expectation  would  she  pass! 
She  would  sit  at  a  window  which  looked 
toward  a  field  he  used  to  cross,  counting 
the  minutes  and  straining  her  eyes  to 
catch  the  first  glimpse  of  his  person,  till, 
blinded  with  tears  of  disappointment, 
she  would  lean  her  head  on  her  hands, 
and  give  free  vent  to  her  sorrow;  then 


132  Charlotte  Temple. 


catching  at  some  new  hope,  she  would 
again  renew  her  watchful  position  till 
the  shades  of  evening  enveloped  every 
object  in  a  dusky  cloud;  she  would  then 
renew  her  complaints,  and,  with  a  heart 
bursting  with  disappointed  love  and 
wrounded  sensibility,  retire  to  a  bed 
which  remorse  had  strewed  with  thorns, 
and  court  in  vain  that  comforter  of 
weary  nature  (who  seldom  visits  the  un- 
happy) to  come  and  steep  her  senses  in 
oblivion. 

Who  can  form  an  adequate  idea  of  the 
sorrow  that  preyed  upon  the  mind  of 
Charlotte?  The  wife,  whose  breast 
glows  with  affection  for  her  husband, 
and  who  in  return  meets  only  indiffer- 
ence, can  but  faintly  conceive  her  an- 
guish. 

Dreadfully  painful  is  the  situation  of 
such  a  woman;  but  she  has  many  com- 
forts of  which  our  poor  Charlotte  was 
deprived.     The  duteous,  faithful  wife, 


Charlotte  Temple.  133 


though  treated  with  indifference,  has  one 
solid  pleasure  within  her  own  bosom; 
she  can  reflect  that  she  has  not  deserved 
neglect — that  she  has  ever  fulfilled  the 
duties  of  her  station  with  the  strictest  ex- 
actness; she  may  hope  by  constant  as- 
siduity and  unremitted  attention  to  re- 
call her  wanderer,  and  be  doubly  happy 
in  his  returning  affection;  she  knows  he 
cannot  leave  her  to  unite  himself  to  an- 
other; he  cannot  cast  her  out  to  poverty 
and  contempt. 

She  looks  around  and  sees  the  smile 
of  friendly  welcome  or  the  tear  of  affec- 
tionate consolation  on  the  face  of  every 
person  whom  she  favors  with  her  es- 
teem, and  from  all  these  circumstances 
she  gathers  comfort;  but  the  poor  girl 
by  thoughtless  passion  led  astray,  who, 
in  parting  with  honor,  has  forfeited  the 
esteem  of  the  very  man  to  whom  she  has 
sacrificed  everything  dear  and  valuable 
in  life,  feels  his  indifference  to  be  the 


134  Charlotte  Temple. 


fruit  of  her  own  folly,  and  laments  the 
want  of  power  to  recall  his  lost  affec- 
tions; she  knows  that  there  is  no  tie  but 
honor,  and  that,  in  a  man  who  has  been 
guilty  of  seduction,  is  but  very  feeble; 
he  may  leave  her  in  a  moment  of  shame 
and  want;  he  may  marry  and  forsake  her 
forever,  and  should  he  do  so,  she  has  no 
redress,  no  friendly,  soothing  companion 
to  pour  into  her  mind  the  balm  of  con- 
solation, no  benevolent  hand  to  lead  her 
back  to  the  path  of  rectitude;  she  has 
disgraced  her  friends,  forfeited  the  good 
opinion  of  the  world,  and  undone  her- 
self. 

She  feels  herself  like  a  poor  solitary 
being  in  the  midst  of  surrounding  multi- 
tudes; shame  bows  her  to  the  earth,  re- 
morse tears  her  distracted  mind,  and 
guilt,  poverty  and  disease  close  the 
dreadful  scene;  she  sinks  unnoticed  to 
oblivion. 

The  finger  of  contempt  may  point  out 


Charlotte  Temple. 


135 


to  some  passing  daughter  of  youthful 
mirth  the  humble  bed  where  lies  this 
frail  sister  of  mortality. 

And  will  she,  in  the  unbounded 
gayety  of  heart,  exult  in  her  unblem- 
ished fame  and  triumph  over  the  silent 
ashes  of  the  dead? 

Oh,  no;  she  has  a  heart  of  sensibility; 
she  will  stop  and  thus  address  the  un- 
happy victim  of  folly : 

"  Thou  hast  thy  faults;  but  surely  thy 
sufferings  have  expatiated  them;  thy  er- 
rors brought  thee  to  an  early  grave;  but 
thou  wert  a  fellow-creature — thou  hast 
been  unhappy — then  be  those  errors  for- 
gotten." 

Then,  as  she  stoops  to  pick  the  nox- 
ious weed  from  off  the  sod,  a  tear  will 
fall  and  consecrate  the  spot  to  Charity. 

Forever  honored  be  the  sacred  drop  of 
humanity;  the  angel  of  mercy  shall 
record  its  source,  and  the  soul  from 
whence  it  sprung  shall  be  immortal. 


.136 


Charlotte  Temple. 


My  dear  madam,  contract  not  your 
brow  into  a  frown  of  disapprobation.  I 
mean  not  to  extenuate  the  faults  of  those 
unhappy  women  who  fall  victims  of 
guilt  and  folly;  but  surely,  when  wTe  re- 
£ect  how  many  errors  we  ourselves  are 
subject  to,  how  many  secret  faults  lie 
liidden  in  the  recesses  of  our  hearts, 
which  we  would  blush  to  have  brought 
Into  open  day,  and  yet  those  faults  re- 
quire the  lenity  and  pity  of  a  benevolent 
judge,  or  awful  wrould  be  our  prospect 
of  futurity.  I  say,  my  dear  madam, 
Avhen  we  consider  this,  we  surely  may 
pity  the  faults  of  others. 

Believe  me,  many  an  unfortunate  fe- 
male, who  has  once  strayed  into  the 
thorny  paths  of  vice,  would  gladly  re- 
turn to  virtue  were  any  generous  friend 
to  endeavor  to  raise  and  reassure  her; 
but  alas!  it  cannot  be,  you  say,  the 
world  would  deride  and  scoff*. 

Then  let  me  tell  you,  madam,  it  is  a 


Charlotte  Temple.  137 


very  unfeeling  world,  and  does  not  de- 
serve half  the  blessings  which  a  bounti- 
ful Providence  showers  upon  it. 

Oh,  thou  benevolent  Giver  of  all  good ! 
how  shall  we  erring  mortals  dare  to  look 
up  to  thy  mercy  in  the  great  day  of  re- 
tribution, if  we  now  uncharitably  refuse 
to  overlook  the  errors,  or  alleviate  the 
miseries  of  our  fellow  creatures! 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A  MISTAKE  DISCOVERED. 

Julia  Franklin  was  the  only  child 
of  a  man  of  large  property,  who  left  her 
independent  mistress  of  an  unencum- 
bered income  of  seven  hundred  a  year, 
at  the  age  of  eighteen;  she  was  a  girl  of 
lively  disposition,  and  humane,  suscep- 
tible heart.    She  resided  In  New  York 


Charlotte  Temple. 


with  an  uncle  who  loved  her  too  well, 
and  had  too  high  an  opinion  of  her  pru- 
dence, to  scrutinize  her  actions  so  much 
as  would  have  been  necessary  with  many 
young  ladies  who  were  not  blest  with 
her  discretion.  She  was,  at  the  time 
Montraville  arrived  at  New  York,  the 
life  of  society,  and  the  universal  toast. 
Montraville  was  introduced  to  her  by  the 
following  accident : 

One  night  when  he  was  upon  guard, 
a  dreadful  fire  broke  out  near  Mr.  Frank- 
lin's house,  which  in  a  few  hours  reduced 
that  and  several  others  to  ashes;  fortun- 
ately no  lives  were  lost,  and  by  the  as- 
siduity of  the  soldiers  much  valuable 
property  was  saved  from  the  flames.  In 
the  midst  of  the  confusion  an  old  gentle- 
man came  up  to  Montraville,  and  putting 
a  small  box  into  his  hands,  cried:  "  Keep 
it,  my  good  sir,  till  I  come  to  you' 
again;  "  and  then  rushed  again  into  the 
thickest  of  the  crowd;  Montraville  saw 
him  no  more. 


Charlotte  Temple. 


L39 


He  waited  till  the  fire  was  quite  ex- 
tinguished, and  the  mob  dispersed,  but 
in  vain;  the  old  gentleman  did  not  ap- 
pear to  claim  his  property;  and  Montra- 
ville,  fearing  to  make  an  inquiry,  lest 
he  should  meet  with  impostors  who 
might  lay  claim  without  any  legal  right 
to  the  box,  carried  it  to  his  lodgings,  and 
locked  it  up;  he  naturally  imagined  that 
the  person  who  committed  it  to  his  care 
knew  him,  and  would  in  a  day  or  two  re- 
claim it;  but  several  wTeeks  passed  on, 
and  no  inquiry  being  made,  he  began  to 
be  uneasy,  and  resolved  to  examine  the 
contents  of  the  box,  and  if  they  were,  as 
he  supposed,  valuable,  to  spare  no  pains 
to  discover  the  owner,  and  restore  them 
to  him.  Upon  opening  it,  he  found  it 
contained  jewels  to  a  large  amount, 
about  two  hundred  pounds  in  money,, 
and  a  miniature  picture  set  for  a  brace- 
let. On  examining  the  picture,  he 
thought  he  had  somewhere  seen  features 


140  Charlotte  Temple. 


very  like  it,  but  could  not  recollect 
where.  A  few  days  after,  being  at  a 
public  assembly,  he  saw  ZMiss  Franklin, 
and  the  likeness  was  too  evident  to  be 
mistaken;  he  inquired  among  his  brother 
officers  if  any  of  them  knew  her,  and 
found  one  who  was  upon  terms  of  in- 
timacy with  the  family.  "  Then  intro- 
duce me  to  her  immediately/  said  he, 
u  for  I  am  certain  I  can  inform  her  of 
something  which  will  give  her  particular 
pleasure." 

He  w7as  immediately  introduced, 
found  she  was  the  owner  of  the  jewels, 
and  was  invited  to  breakfast  the  next 
morning,  in  order  to  restore  them.  The 
whole  evening  Montraville  was  honored 
with  Julia's  hand;  the  lively  sallies  of 
her  wit,  the  elegance  of  her  manner, 
powerfully  charmed  him;  he  forgot 
Charlotte,  and  indulged  himself  in  say- 
ing everything  that  was  polite  and  ten- 
der to  Julia.    But  on  retiring,  recollec- 


Charlotte  Temple.  141 


tion  returned.  "  What  am  I  about  \  " 
said  he.  tk  Though  I  cannot  marry  Char- 
lotte, I  cannot  be  villain  enough  to  for- 
sake her,  nor  must  1  dare  to  trifile  with 
the  heart  of  Julia  Franklin.  I  will  re- 
turn this  box,"  said  he,  "  which  has  been 
the  source  of  so  much  uneasiness  already, 
and  in  the  evening  pay  a  visit  to  my 
poor,  melancholy  Charlotte,  and  en- 
deavor to  forget  this  fascinating  Julia." 

He  arose,  dressed  himself,  and  taking 
the  picture  out,  "  I  will  reserve  this  from 
the  rest,"  said  he,  u  and  by  presenting  it 
to  her  when  she  thinks  it  is  lost,  enhance 
the  value  of  the  obligation."  He  re- 
paired to  Mr.  Franklin's,  and  found 
Julia  in  the  breakfast  parlor  alone. 

"  How  happy  am  I,  madam,"  said  he, 
"  that  being  the  fortunate  instrument  of 
saving  these  jewels,  has  been  the  means 
of  procuring  me  the  acquaintance  of  so 
amiable  a  lady.  There  are  the  jewels 
and  money  all  safe." 


142 


Charlotte  Temple. 


"  But  where  is  the  picture,  sir  ?  "  said 
Julia. 

"  Here,  madam.  I  would  not  willing- 
ly part  with  it." 

u  It  is  the  portrait  of  my  mother,"  said 
she,  taking  it  from  him ;  "  'tis  all  that  re- 
mains." She  pressed  it  to  her  lips,  and 
a  tear  trembled  in  her  eye.  Montraville 
glanced  his  eyes  on  her  gray  night- 
gown and  black  ribbon,  and  his  own  feel- 
ings prevented  a  reply. 

Julia  Franklin  was  the  very  reverse 
of  Charlotte  Temple;  she  was  tall,  ele- 
gantly shaped,  and  possessed  much  of  the 
air  and  manner  of  a  woman  of  fashion; 
her  complexion  was  a  clear  brown,  enliv- 
ened with  the  glow  of  'health ;  her  eyes, 
full,  black,  and  sparkling,  darted  their 
intelligent  glances  through  long  silken 
lashes;  her  hair  was  shining  brown,  and 
her  features  regular  and  striking;  there 
was  an  air  of  innocent  gayety  that  played 
about  her  countenance  where  good- 
humor  sat  triumphant. 


Charlotte  Temple. 


143 


"  I  have  mistaken/'  said  Montraville. 
"I  imagined  I  loved  Charlotte;  but, 
alas!  I  am  too  late  convinced  my  attach- 
ment to  her  was  merely  the  impulse  of 
the  moment.  I  fear  I  have  not  only  en- 
tailed lasting  misery  on  that  poor  girl, 
but  also  thrown  a  barrier  in  the  way  of 
my  own  happiness  which  it  will  be  im- 
possible to  surmount.  I  feel  I  love 
Julia  Franklin  with  ardor  and  sincerity; 
yet,  when  in  her  presence,  I  am  sensible 
of  my  own  inability  to  offer  a  heart 
worthy  her  acceptance,  and  remain  si- 
lent." 

Full  of  these  painful  thoughts,  Mon- 
traville walked  out  to  see  Charlotte.  She 
saw  him  approaching,  and  ran  out  to 
meet  him.  She  banished  from  her 
countenance  the  air  of  discontent,  which 
ever  appeared  when  he  was  absent,  and 
met  him  with  a  smile  of  joy. 

"  I  thought  you  had  forgotten  me, 
Montraville,"  said  she,  "  and  was  very 
unhappy." 


144  Charlotte  Temple. 


"  I  shall  never  forget  you,  Charlotte," 
he  replied,  pressing  her  hand. 

The  uncommon  gravity  of  his  coun- 
tenance and  the  brevity  of  his  reply 
alarmed  her. 

"  You  are  not  well,"  said  she ;  "  your 
hand  it  hot ;  your  eyes  are  heavy ;  you  are 
ill." 

"  I  am  a  villain,"  said  he  mentally,  as 
he  turned  from  her  to  hide  his  emotion. 

"  But  come,"  continued  she,  tenderly, 
"  you  shall  go  to  bed,  and  I  will  sit  by 
and  watch  you;  you  shall  be  better  when 
you  have  slept." 

Montraville  was  glad  to  retire,  and  by 
pretending  to  sleep,  conceal  the  agitation 
of  his  mind  from  her  penetrating  eye. 
Charlotte  watched  him  until  a  late  hour, 
and  then,  lying  softly  down  by  his  side, 
sunk  into  a  profound  sleep,  from  which 
she  awoke  not  till  late  the  next  morning. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


"  Virtue  never  appears  so  amiable  as  when 
reaching  forth  her  hand  to  raise  a  fallen  sister." 
—Chapter  of  Accidents. 

When  Charlotte  awoke  she  missed 
Montraville,  but  thinking  he  might  have 
risen  early  to  enjoy  the  beauties  of  the 
morning,  she  was  preparing  to  follow 
him,  when  casting  her  eye  on  the  table, 
she  saw  a  note,  and  opening  it  hastily, 
she  found  these  words: 

"  My  dear  Charlotte  must  not  be  sur- 
prised if  she  does  not  see  me  again  for 
some  time;  unavoidable  business  will 
prevent  me  that  pleasure.  Be  assured 
I  am  quite  well  this  morning,  and  what 
your  fond  imagination  magnified  into  ill- 
ness, was  nothing  more  than  fatigue, 
which  a  few  hours'  rest  has  entirely  re- 
moved. Make  yourself  happy,  and  be 
certain  of  the  unalterable  friendship  of 
Montraville." 

145 


146  Charlotte  Temple. 


"Friendship"  said  Charlotte,  em- 
phatically, as  she  finished  the  note.  "  Is 
it  come  to  this  at  last?  Alas!  poor  for- 
saken Charlottee!  Thy  doom  is  but  too 
apparent.  Montraville  is  no  longer  in- 
terested in  thy  happiness;  and  shame,  re- 
morse, and  disappointed  love  will  hence- 
forth be  thy  only  attendants  !  " 

Though  these  were  the  ideas  that  in- 
voluntarily rushed  upon  the  mind  of 
Charlotte,  as  she  perused  the  fatal  note, 
yet,  after  a  few  hours  elapsed,  the  siren 
hope  again  took  possession  of  her  bosom, 
and  she  flattered  herself  she  could  on  the 
second  perusal  discover  an  air  of  tender- 
ness in  the  few  lines  he  had  left,  and 
which  had  at  first  escaped  her  notice. 

"  He  certainly  cannot  be  so  base  as  to 
leave  me,"  said  she;  "  and  in  styling  him- 
self as  my  friend,  does  he  not  promise  to 
protect  me?  I  will  not  torment  myself 
with  these  causeless  fears;  I  will  place 
confidence  in  his  honor,  and  sure  he  will 
not  be  so  unjust  as  to  abuse  it." 


Charlotte  Temple. 


147 


Just  as  she  had,  by  this  manner  of 
reasoning,  brought  her  mind  to  some 
tolerable  degree  of  composure,  she  was 
surprised  by  a  visit  from  Belcour.  The 
dejection  visible  in  Charlotte's  counten- 
ance, her  swollen  eyes  and  neglected  at- 
tire, at  once  told  him  she  was  unhappy. 

He  made  no  doubt  Montraville  had, 
by  his  coldness,  alarmed  her  suspicions, 
and  was  resolved,  if  possible,  to  arouse 
her  jealousy,  urge  her  to  reproach  him, 
and  by  that  mean^  occasion  a  breach  be- 
tween them. 

"  If  I  can  once  convince  her  that  she 
has  a  rival,"  said  he,  "  she  will  listen  to 
my  passion,  if  it  is  only  to  revenge  his 
slights." 

Belcour  knew  but  little  of  the  female 
heart;  and  what  he  did  know  was  only 
of  those  of  loose  and  dissolute  lives. 

He  had  no  idea  that  a  woman  might 
fall  a  victim  to  imprudence,  and  yet  re- 
tain so  strong  a  sense  of  honor  as  to  re- 


148  Charlotte  Temple. 


ject,  with  horror  and  contempt,  every  so- 
licitation to  a  second  fault. 

He  never  imagined  that  a  gentle,  gen- 
erous female  heart,  once  attached,  when 
treated  with  unkindness,  might  break, 
but  would  never  harbor  a  thought  of  re- 
venge. 

His  visit  was  not  long,  but  before  he 
went,  he  fixed  a  scorpion  in  the  heart  of 
Charlotte,  whose  venom  embittered 
every  future  hour  of  her  life. 

We  will  turn  now,  for  a  moment,  to 
Colonel  Crayton. 

He  had  been  three  months  married, 
and  in  that  little  time  had  discovered 
that  the  conduct  of  his  lady  was  not  so 
prudent  as  it  ought  to  have  been,  but  re- 
monstrance was  vain;  her  temper  was 
violent,  and  to  the  colonel's  great  mis- 
fortune, he  had  conceived  a  sincere  af- 
fection for  her;  she  saw  her  own  power, 
and  with  the  art  of  Circe,  made  every  ac- 
tion appear  to  him  in  what  light  she 


Charlotte  Temple.  149 


pleased;  his  acquaintances  laughed  at  his 
blindness,  his  friends  pitied  his  infatua- 
tion, his  amiable  daughter,  Mrs.  Beau- 
champ,  in  secret  deplored  the  loss  of  her 
father's  affection,  and  grieved  that  he 
should  be  so  entirely  swayed  by  an  artful 
and,  she  much  feared,  infamous  woman. 

Mrs.  Beauchamp  was  mild  and  engag- 
ing; she  loved  not  the  hurry  and  bustle 
of  a  city,  and  had  prevailed  on  her  hus- 
band to  take  a  house  a  fewT  miles  from 
New  York. 

Chance  led  her  into  the  same  neigh- 
borhood with  Charlotte.  Their  houses 
stood  within  a  short  space  of  each  other, 
and  their  gardens  joined. 

She  had  not  been  long  in  her  new 
habitation  before  the  figure  of  Charlotte 
struck  her;  she  recognized  her  interest- 
ing features;  she  saw  the  melancholy  so 
conspicuous  in  her  countenance,  and  her 
heart  bled  at  reflecting  that,  perhaps,  de- 
prived of  honor,  friends,  and  all  that  was 


150  Charlotte  Temple. 


valuable  in  this  life,  she  was  doomed  to 
linger  out  a  wretched  existence  in  a 
strange  land,  and  sink  broken-hearted 
into  an  untimely  grave. 

"  Would  to  Heaven  I  could  snatch  her 
from  so  hard  a  fate  !  "  said  she,  "  but  the 
merciless  world  has  barred  the  doors  of 
compassion  against  the  poor,  weak  girl, 
who,  perhaps,  had  she  one  kind  friend  to 
raise  and  reassure  her,  would  gladly  re- 
turn to  peace  and  virtue,  nay,  even  the 
woman  who  dares  to  pity  and  endeavors 
to  recall  a  wandering  sister,  incurs  the 
sneer  of  contempt  and  ridicule,  for  an 
action  in  which  even  angels  are  said  to 
rejoice." 

The  longer  Mrs.  Beauchamp  was  a 
witness  to  the  solitary  life  Charlotte  led, 
the  more  she  wished  to  speak  to  her;  and 
often  as  she  saw  her  cheeks  wet  with 
tears  of  anguish,  she  would  say — "  Dear 
sufferer,  how  gladly  would  I  pour  into 
your  heart  the  balm  of  consolation,  were 
it  not  for  the  fear  of  derision." 


Charlotte  Temple. 


151 


But  an  incident  soon  happened  which 
made  her  resolve  to  brave  even  the 
scoffs  of  the  world,  rather  than  not  to 
enjoy  the  heavenly  satisfaction  of  com- 
forting a  despondent  fellow-creature. 

Mrs.  Beauehamp  was  an  early  riser. 
She  was  one  morning  walking  in  the  gar- 
den, leaning  on  her  husband's  arm,  when 
the  sound  of  a  harp  attracted  their  no- 
tice; they  listened  attentively,  and  heard 
a  soft,  melodious  voice,  distinctly  sing- 
ing the  following  stanzas: 

"  In  vain  thy  glories  bid  me  rise, 
To  hail  the  new-born  day; 
Alas!  my  morning  sacrifice, 
Is  still  to  weep  and  pray. 

"  For  what  are  nature's  charms  combin'd 
•  To  one  whose  weary  breast 
Can  neither  peace,  nor  comfort  find, 
Nor  friend  whereon  to  rest? 

"  Oh!  never,  never!  whilst  I  live 
Can  my  heart's  anguish  cease; 
Come,  friendly  death,  thy  mandate  give, 
And  let  me  be  at  peace." 

"  'Tis  poor  Charlotte  !  "  said  Mrs. 
Beauehamp,  the  pellucid  drop  of  human- 
ity stealing  down  her  cheek. 


152 


Charlotte  Temple. 


Major  Beauchamp  was  alarmed  at  her 
emotion.  "  What,  Charlotte  ?  "  said  he. 
"  Do  you  know  her  1 99 

In  the  accent  of  a  pitying  angel  did 
she  disclose  to  her  husband  Charlotte's 
unhappy  situation,  and  the  frequent 
wish  she  had  formed  of  being  serviceable 
to  her. 

"  I  fear,"  continued  she,  "  the  poor 
girl  has  been  basely  betrayed;  and  if  I 
thought  you  would  not  blame  me,  I 
would  pay  her  a  visit,  offer  her  my 
friendship,  and  endeavor  to  restore  to 
her  heart  that  peace  she  seems  to  have 
lost,  and  so  pathetically  laments.  Who 
knows,  my  dear,"  laying  her  hand  affec- 
tionately on  his  arm,  "  who  knows  but 
she  has  left  some  kind,  affectionate  par- 
ents to  lament  her  errors,  and  would  she 
return,  they  might  with  rapture  receive 
the  poor  penitent,  and  wash  away  her 
faults  in  tears  of  joy?  Oh!  what  a 
glorious  reflection  would  it  be  for  me 


Charlotte  Temple.  153 


could  I  be  the  happy  instrument  of  re- 
storing her.  Her  heart  may  not  be  de- 
praved, Beauchamp." 

"  Exalted  woman/'  cried  Beauchamp, 
embracing  her,  "  how  dost  thou  rise  ev- 
ery moment  in  my  esteem !  Follow  the 
impulse  of  thy  generous  heart,  my 
Emily.  Let  prudes  and  fools  censure, 
if  they  dare,  and  blame  a  sensibility  they 
never  felt.  I  will  exultingly  tell  them 
that  the  truly  virtuous  heart  is  ever  in- 
clined to  pity  and  forgive  the  errors  of 
its  fellow-creatures." 

A  beam  of  exulting  joy  played  around 
the  animated  countenance  of  Mrs.  Beau- 
champ  at  these  encomiums  bestowed  on 
her  by  a  beloved  husband;  the  most  de- 
lightful sensations  pervaded  her  heart; 
and,  having  breakfasted,  she  prepared  to 
visit  Charlotte. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


A  BENEVOLENT  VISIT. 

Teach  me  to  feel  another's  woe; 

To  hide  the  fault  I  see; 
That  mercy  I  to  others  show, 

That  mercy  show  to  me. — Pope. 

When  Mrs.  Beauchamp  was  dressed 
she  began  to  feel  embarrassed  at  the 
thought  of  beginning  an  acquaintance 
with  Charlotte,  and  was  distressed  how 
to  make  the  first  visit.  "  I  cannot  go 
without  some  introduction/7  said  she. 
"  It  will  look  like  impertinent  curiosity." 
At  length,  recollecting  herself,  she 
stepped  into  the  garden,  and,  gathering  a 
few  fine  cucumbers,  took  them  in  her 
hand  by  way  of  apology  for  her  visit. 

A  glow  of  conscious  shame  vermil- 
ioned Charlotte's  face  as  Mrs.  Beau- 
champ  entered. 

"  You  will  pardon  me,  madam,"  said 

154 


Charlotte  Temple.  105 


she,  "  for  not  having  before  paid  my  re- 
spects to  so  amiable  a  neighbor;  bnt  we 
English  people  always  keep  up,  whither 
we  go,  that  reserve  which  is  the  charac- 
teristic of  our  nation.  I  have  taken  the 
liberty  to  bring  you  a  few  cucumbers; 
for  I  had  observed  you  had  none  in  your 
garden." 

Charlotte,  though  naturally  polite  and 
well-bred,  was  so  confused  she  could 
hardly  speak.  Her  kind  visitor  endeav- 
ored to  relieve  her  by  not  noticing  her 
embarrassment.  "  I  am  come,  madam/' 
continued  she,  "  to  request  you  to  spend 
the  day  wTith  me.  I  shall  be  alone,  and 
as  we  are  both  strangers  in  this  country, 
we  may  hereafter  be  extremely  happy 
in  each  other's  friendship." 

"  Your  friendship,  madam,"  said 
Charlotte,  blushing,  "  is  an  honor  to  all 
who  are  favored  with  it.  Little  as  I  have 
seen  of  this  part  of  the  world,  I  am  no 
stranger  to  Mrs.  Beauchamp's  goodness 


156  Charlotte  Temple. 


of  heart  and  known  humanity;  but  my 

friendship  "     She  paused,  glanced 

her  eye  upon  her  own  visible  situation, 
and  in  spite  of  her  endeavors  to  suppress 
them,  burst  into  tears. 

Mrs.  Beauchamp  guessed  the  source 
from  whence  these  tears  flowed.  "  You 
seem  unhappy,  madam,"  said  she;  "  shall 
I  be  thought  worthy  your  confidence? 
Will  you  intrust  me  with  the  cause  of 
your  sorrow,  and  rest  on  my  assurance  to 
exert  my  utmost  power  to  serve  you  ? " 
Charlotte  returned  a  look  of  gratitude, 
but  could  not  speak,  and  Mrs.  Beau- 
champ  continued :  "  My  heart  was  inter- 
ested in  your  behalf  the  first  moment  I 
saw  you;  and  I  only  lament  I  had  not 
made  earlier  overtures  towards  an  ac- 
quaintance ;  but  I  flatter  myself  you  will 
henceforth  consider  me  as  your  friend." 

"  Oh,  madam  !  "  said  Charlotte,  "  I 
have  forfeited  the  good  opinion  of  all  my 
friends;  I  have  forsaken  them,  and  un- 
done myself." 


Charlotte  Temple.  157 


"  Come — come,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Beauchamp,  "you  must  not  indulge  in 
these  gloomy  thoughts;  you  are  not,  I 
hope,  so  unhappy  as  you  imagine  your- 
self; endeavor  to  be  composed,  and  let 
me  be  favored  with  your  company  at 
dinner,  when,  if  you  can  bring  yourself 
to  think  me  your  friend  and  repose  con- 
fidence in  me,  I  am  ready  to  convince 
you  that  it  shall  not  be  abused." 

She  then  arose  and  bade  her  good- 
morning. 

At  dining  hour,  Charlotte  repaired  to 
Mrs.  Beauchamp's,  and  during  dinner 
assumed  as  composed  an  aspect  as  possi- 
ble, but  when  the  cloth  was  removed, 
she  summoned  all  her  resolution,  and  de- 
termined to  make  Mrs.  Bauchamp  ac- 
quainted with  every  circumstance  pre- 
ceding her  elopement,  and  the  earnest 
desire  she  had  to  quit  a  way  of  life  so  re- 
pugnant to  her  feelings. 

With  the  benignant  aspect  of  an  angel 


158 


Charlotte  Temple. 


of  mercy,  did  Mrs.  Beauchamp  listen  to 
the  artless  tale;  she  was  shocked  to  the 
soul  to  find  how  large  a  share  La  Rue 
had  in  the  seduction  of  this  amiable  girl, 
and  a  tear  fell  when  she  reflected  that  so 
vile  a  woman  was  now  the  wife  of  her 
father.  When  Charlotte  had  finished, 
she  gave  her  a  little  time  to  collect  her 
scattered  spirits,  and  then  asked  her  if 
she  had  written  to  her  friends. 

"  Oh,  yes,  madam,"  said  she,  "  fre- 
quently; but  I  have  broken  their  hearts; 
they  are  all  either  dead,  or  have  cast  me 
off  forever,  for  I  have  never  received  a 
single  line  from  them." 

"  I  rather  suspect,"  said  Mrs.  Beau- 
champ,  "  they  have  never  had  your  let- 
ters; but  suppose  you  were  to  hear  from 
them,  and  they  were  willing  to  receive 
you,  would  you  leave  this  cruel  Montra- 
ville,  and  return  to  them  ?  " 

"  Would  I  ?  "  said  Charlotte,  clasping 
her  hands;  "would  not  the  poor  sailor 


Charlotte  Temple.  159 


tossed  on  a  tempestuous  ocean,  threat- 
ened every  moment  with  death,  gladly 
return  to  the  shore  he  had  left  to  trust  to 
its  deceitful  calmness?  Oh,  my  dear 
madam,  I  would  return,  though  to  do  it 
I  were  obliged  to  walk  barefooted,  and 
beg  a  scanty  pittance  of  each  traveler  to 
support  my  existence.  I  would  endure 
it  all  cheerfully,  could  I  but  once  more 
see  my  dear,  blessed  mother,  hear  her 
pronounce  my  pardon,  and  bless  me  be- 
fore I  died;  but  alas!  I  shall  never  see 
her  more;  she  has  blotted  the  ungrateful 
Charlotte  from  her  remembrance,  and  I 
shall  sink  to  the  grave  loaded  with  her's 
and  my  father's  curse." 

Mrs.  Beauchamp  endeavored  to  soothe 
her. 

"  You  shall  write  to  them  again,"  said 
she,  "  and  I  will  see  that  the  letter  is  sent 
by  the  first  packet  that  sails  for  Eng- 
land; in  the  meantime,  keep  up  your 
spirits,  and  hope  for  everything  by  de- 
serving it." 


160 


Charlotte  Temple. 


She  then  turned  the  conversation,  and 
Charlotte,  having  taken  a  cup  of  tea, 
wished  her  benevolent  friend  a  good- 
evening. 


CHAPTEK  XXII. 

SORROWS  OF  THE  HEART. 

When  Charlotte  returned  home  she 
endeavored  to  collect  her  thoughts,  and 
took  up  a  pen,  in  order  to  address  those 
dear  parents,  whom,  spite  of  her  errors, 
she  still  loved  with  the  utmost  tender- 
ness, but  vain  was  every  effort  to  write 
with  the  least  coherence. 

Her  tears  fell  so  fast,  they  almost 
blinded  her,  and  as  she  proceeded  to  de- 
scribe her  unhappy  situation,  she  became 
so  agitated  that  she  was  obliged  to  give 
over  the  attempt,  and  retired  to  bed, 


Charlotte  Temple.  161 


where,  overcome  with  the  fatigue  her 
mind  had  undergone,  she  fell  into  a 
slumber  which  greatly  refreshed  her. 

She  arose  in  the  morning  with  spirits 
more  adequate  to  the  painful  task  she 
had  to  perform,  and  after  several  at- 
tempts, at  length  concluded  the  follow- 
ing letter  to  her  mother: 

"  New  York. 

"  To  Mrs.  Temple: 

"  Will  my  once  kind,  my  ever-beloved 
mother,  deign  to  receive  a  letter  from 
her  guilty,  but  repentant  child?  or  has 
she,  justly  incensed  at  my  ingratitude, 
driven  the  unhappy  Charlotte  from  her 
remembrance? 

"Alas!  shouldst  thou  even  disown  me, 
I  dare  not  complain,  because  I  have  de- 
served it;  but  yet,  believe  me,  guilty  as 
I  am,  and  cruelly  as  I  have  disappointed 
the  hopes  of  the  fondest  parents  that 
ever  girl  had,  even  in  the  moment  when, 


162  Charlotte  Temple. 


forgetful  of  my  duty,  I  fled  from  you 
and  happiness — even  then  I  loved  you 
most,  and  my  heart  bled  at  the  thought 
of  what  you  would  suffer.  Oh !  never — 
never!  while  I  have  existence,  will  the 
agony  of  that  moment  be  erased  from 
my  memory.  It  seemed  like  the  separa- 
tion of  soul  and  body. 

"  What  can  I  plead  in  excuse  for  my 
conduct?  Alas!  nothing.  That  I  loved 
my  seducer  is  but  too  true.  Yet,  pow- 
erful as  that  passion  is,  when  operating 
in  a  young  heart  glowing  with  sensibil- 
ity, it  never  would  have  conquered  my 
affection  for  you,  my  beloved  parents, 
had  I  not  been  encouraged,  nay,  urged 
to  take  the  fatal  step  by  one  of  my  own 
sex,  who,  under  the  mask  of  friendship, 
drew  me  on  to  ruin. 

"  Yet,  think  not  that  your  Charlotte 
was  so  lost  as  to  voluntarily  rush  into  a 
life  of  infamy. 

"  Xo,  my  dear  mother,  deceived  by 


Charlotte  Temple.  163 


the  specious  appearance  of  my  betrayer, 
and  every  suspicion  lulled  asleep  by  the 
most  solemn  promise  of  marriage,  I 
thought  those  promises  would  not  so 
easily  be  fogotten. 

"  I  never  once  reflected  that  the  man 
who  could  stoop  to  seduction,  would  not 
hesitate  to  forsake  the  wretched  object 
of  his  passion,  whenever  his  capricious 
heart  grew  weary  of  her  tenderness. 

"  When  we  arrived  at  this  place,  I 
vainly  expected  him  to  fulfill  his  engage- 
ments; but  was  at  last  fatally  convinced 
he  never  intended  to  make  me  his  wife, 
or  if  he  had  once  thought  of  it  his  mind 
was  now  altered. 

"  I  scorned  to  claim  from  his  human- 
ity what  I  could  not  obtain  from  his 
love ;  I  was  conscious  of  having  forfeited 
the  only  gem  that  could  render  me  re- 
spectable in  the  eyes  of  the  world 

"  I  locked  my  sorrows  in  my  own 
bosom,  and  bore  my  injuries  in  silence. 


164  Charlotte  Temple. 


"  But  how  shall  I  proceed  ? 

"  This  man,  this  cruel  Montraville,  for 
whom  I  sacrificed  honor,  happiness,  and 
the  love  of  my  friends,  no  longer  looks 
on  me  with  affection,  but  scorns  the 
credulous  girl  whom  his  art  has  made 
miserable. 

"  Could  you  see  me,  my  dear  parents, 
without  society,  without  friends,  stung 
with  remorse,  and  (I  feel  the  burning 
blush  of  shame  dye  my  cheeks  while  I 
write  it)  tortured  with  the  pangs  of  dis- 
appointed love,  cut  to  the  soul  by  the  in- 
difference of  him,  who,  having  deprived 
me  of  every  other  comfort,  no  longer 
thinks  it  worth  his  while  to  soothe  the 
heart  where  he  has  planted  the  thorn  of 
never-ceasing  regret! 

"  My  daily  employment  is  to  think  of 
you  and  weep,  to  pray  for  your  happi- 
ness, and  deplore  my  own  folly;  my 
nights  are  scarce  more  happy;  for,  if  by 


Charlotte  Temple.  165 


chance  I  close  my  weary  eyes,  and  hope 
some  small  forgetfulness  of  sorrow,  some 
little  time  to  pass  in  sweet  oblivion, 
fancy,  still  waking,  wafts  me  home  to 
you;  I  see  your  beloved  forms;  I  kneel 
and  hear  the  blessed  words  of  peace  and 
pardon.  Ecstatic  joy  pervades  my  soul. 
I  reach  my  arms  to  catch  the  dear  em- 
braces; the  motion  chases  the  illusive 
dream;  I  wake  to  real  misery. 

"At  other  times  I  see  my  father,  angry 
and  frowning,  point  to  horrid  caves, 
where,  on  the  cold,  damp  ground,  in  the 
agonies  of  death,  I  see  my  dear  mother 
and  my  revered  grandfather. 

"  I  strive  to  raise  you ;  you  push  me 
from  you,  and  shrieking,  cry:  i  Char- 
lotte, thou  hast  murdered  me.'  Horror 
and  despair  tear  every  tortured  nerve;  I 
start  and  leave  my  restless  bed,  weary 
and  unrefreshed. 

"  Shocking  as  these  reflections  are,  I 
have  yet  one  more  dreadful  than  the  rest. 


166  Charlotte  Temple. 


Mother,  my  dear  mother!  do  not  let  me 
quite  break  your  heart  when  I  tell  you, 
in  a  few  months,  in  a  few  months  I  shall 
bring  into  the  world  an  innocent  witness 
of  my  guilt.  Oh!  my  bleeding  heart. 
I  shall  bring  a  poor  little  helpless  creat- 
ure heir  to  infamy  and  shame. 

"  This  alone  has  urged  me  once  more 
to  address  you,  to  interest  you  in  behalf 
of  this  unborn,  and  beg  you  to  extend 
your  protection  to  the  child  of  your  lost 
Charlotte.  For  my  own  part,  I  have 
written  so  often,  so  frequently  have 
pleaded  for  forgiveness,  and  entreated  to 
be  received  once  more  beneath  the  pa- 
ternal roof,  that,  having  received  no  an- 
swer, nor  even  one  line,  I  much  fear 
you  have  cast  me  from  you  forever. 

"  But  sure  you  cannot  refuse  to  pro- 
tect my  innocent  infant;  it  partakes  not 
of  its  mother's  guilt.  Oh!  my  father, 
oh!  my  beloved  mother,  now  do  I  feel 
the  anguish  inflicted  on  your  hearts  re- 
coiling with  double  force  on  my  own. 


Charlotte  Temple.  167 


"  If  my  child  should  be  a  girl  (which 
Heaven  forbid),  tell  her  the  unhappy 
fate  of  her  mother,  and  teach  her  to 
avoid  my  errors;  if  a  boy,  teach  him  to 
lament  my  miseries,  but  tell  him  not 
who  inflicted  them,  lest,  in  wishing  to  re- 
venge his  mother's  injuries,  he  should 
wound  the  peace  of  his  father. 

"And  now,  dear  friends  of  my  soul, 
kind  guardians  of  my  infancy,  farewell. 
I  feel  I  never  more  must  hope  to  see 
you.  The  anguish  of  my  heart  strikes 
at  the  strings  of  life,  and  in  a  short  time 
I  shall  be  at  rest.  Oh,  could  I  but  re- 
ceive your  blessing  and  forgiveness  be- 
fore I  die,  it  would  smooth  my  passage 
to  the  peaceful  grave,  and  be  a  blessed 
foretaste  of  a  happy  eternity.  I  beseech 
you,  curse  me  not,  my  adored  parents; 
but  let  a  tear  of  pity  and  pardon  fall  to 
the  memory  of  your  lost 

"  Charlotte." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


A  MAN  MAY  SMILE,  AND  SMILE  AND  BE  A 
VILLAIN. 

While  Charlotte  was  enjoying  some 
small  degree  of  comfort  in  the  consoling 
friendship  of  Mrs.  Beauchamp,  Montra- 
ville  was  advancing  rapidly  in  his  affec- 
tion toward  Miss  Franklin. 

Julia  was  an  amiable  girl;  she  saw 
only  the  fair  side  of  his  character;  she 
possessed  an  independent  fortune,  and 
resolved  to  be  happy  with  the  man  of 
her  heart,  though  his  rank  and  fortune 
was  by  no  means  so  exalted  as  she  had  a 
right  to  expect;  she  saw  the  passion 
which  Montraville  struggled  to  conceal; 
she  wondered  at  his  timidity,  but  im- 
agined the  distance  fortune  had  placed 
between  them  occasioned  his  backward- 
ness.     She,  therefore,  made  every  ad- 

16S 


Charlotte  Temple. 


L69 


vance  which  strict  prudence  and  a  be- 
coming modesty  could  permit.  Mon- 
traville  saw  with  pleasure  she  was  not  in- 
different to  him;  but  a  spark  of  honor 
which  animated  his  bosom  would  not 
suffer  him  to  take  advantage  of  partial- 
ity. He  was  well  acquainted  with  Char- 
lotte's situation,  and  he  thought  there 
would  be  a  double  cruelty  in  forsaking 
her  at  such  a  time;  and  to  marry  Miss 
Franklin,  while  honor,  humanity,  every 
sacred  law,  obliged  him  still  to  protect 
and  support  Charlotte,  was  a  baseness  at 
which  his  soul  shuddered. 

He  communicated  his  uneasiness  to 
Belcour;  it  was  the  very  thing  his  pre- 
tended friend  had  wished. 

"And  do  you  really,"  said  he,  laugh- 
ing, "  hesitate  at  marrying  the  lovely 
Julia,  and  becoming  master  of  her  for- 
tune, because  a  little,  foolish,  fond  girl, 
chose  to  leave  her  friends,  and  run  away 
with  you  to  America?     Dear  Montra- 


170 


Charlotte  Temple. 


ville,  act  more  like  a  man  of  sense.  This 
whining,  pining  Charlotte,  who  occa- 
sions you  so  much  uneasiness,  would 
have  eloped  with  somebody  else,  if  she 
had  not  with  you." 

"  Would  to  Heaven,"  said  Montra- 
ville,  "  I  had  never  seen  her.  My  regard 
for  her  was  but  the  momentary  passion  of 
desire;  but  I  feel  I  shall  love  and  revere 
Julia  Franklin  as  long  as  I  live;  yet  to 
leave  poor  Charlotte  in  her  present  situa- 
tion, would  be  cruel  beyond  descrip- 
tion." 

"  Oh,  my  good,  sentimental  friend," 
said  Belcour,  "  do  you  imagine  that  no- 
body has  a  right  to  provide  for  the  brat 
but  yourself  ?  " 

Montraville  started. 

"  Sure,"  said  he,  "  you  cannot  mean  to 
insinuate  that  Charlotte  is  alse  ?  " 

"I  don't  insinuate  it,"  said  Belcour; 
"  I  know  it." 

Montraville  turned  pale  as  ashes. 


Charlotte  Temple. 


171 


"  Then  there  is  no  faith  in  woman," 
said  he. 

"  While  I  thought  you  were  attached 
to  her,"  said  Belcour,  with  an  air  of  in- 
difference, "  I  never  wished  to  make  you 
uneasy  by  mentioning  her  perfidy;  but, 
as  I  know  you  love  and  are  beloved  by 
Miss  Franklin,  I  was  determined  not  to 
let  these  foolish  scruples  of  honor  step 
between  you  and  happiness,  or  your  ten- 
derness for  the  peace  of  a  perfidious  girl 
prevent  your  uniting  yourself  to  a 
woman  of  honor." 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  said  Montraville, 
"  what  poignant  reflections  does  a  man 
endure  who  sees  a  lovely  woman  plunged 
in  infamy,  and  is  conscious  he  was  her 
first  seducer.  But  are  you  certain  of 
what  you  say,  Belcour  ?  " 

"  So  far,"  said  he,  "  that  I  myself  have 
received  advances  from  her,  which  I 
would  not  take  advantage  of  out  of  re- 
gard for  you.    But,  hang  it,  think  no 


172 


Charlotte  Temple. 


more  about  her.  I  dined  at  Franklin's 
to-day,  and  Julia  bid  me  seek  and  bring 
you  to  tea ;  so  come  along,  my  lad,  make 
good  use  of  the  opportunity,  and  receive 
the  gifts  of  fortune  while  they  are  with- 
in your  reach." 

Montraville  was  too  much  agitated  to 
pass  a  happy  evening  even  in  the  com- 
pany of  Jnlia  Franklin. 

He  determined  to  visit  Charlotte  early 
next  morning,  tax  her  with  falsehood, 
and  take  an  everlasting  leave  of  her. 
But  when  the  morning  came,  he  was 
commanded  on  duty,  and  for  six  weeks 
was  prevented  from  putting  his  design 
into  execution. 

At  length  he  found  an  hour  to  spare, 
and  walked  out  to  spend  it  with  Char- 
lotte. 

It  was  near  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon when  he  arrived  at  her  cottage. 

She  was  not  in  the  parlor,  and  with- 
out calling  her  servant,  he  walked  up- 


Charlotte  Temple.  173 

stairs,  thinking  to  find  her  in  her  bed- 
room. He  opened  the  door,  and  the 
first  object  that  met  his  eyes  was  Char- 
lotte asleep  on  the  bed,  and  Belcour  by 
her  side. 

"  Death  and  destruction  !  "  said  he, 
stamping,  "  this  is  too  much.  Rise,  vil- 
lain, and  defend  yourself  !  " 

The  noise  awoke  Charlotte. 

Terrified  at  the  furious  appearance  of 
Montraville,  and  seeing  Belcour  with 
him  in  the  chamber,  she  caught  hold  of 
his  arm,  as  he  stood  by  the  bedside,  and 
eagerly  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

"Treacherous,  infamous  giil  !  "  said 
he,  "  can  you  ask?  How  came  he  here?  " 
pointing  to  Belcour. 

"As  Heaven  is  my  witness  !  "  replied 
she,  weeping,  "  I  do  not  know.  I  have 
not  seen  him  for  these  three  weeks." 

"  Then  you  confess  he  sometimes  visits 
you  ?  " 

"  He  came  sometimes  by  your  desire. " 


174  Charlotte  Temple. 

"  'Tis  false.  I  never  desired  him  to 
come,  and  you  know  I  did  not.  But 
mark  me,  Charlotte,  from  this  instant 
our  connection  is  at  an  end.  Let  Bel- 
cour  or  any  of  your  favored  lovers  take 
you  and  provide  for  you;  I  have  done 
with  you  forever  !  " 

He  was  then  going  to  leave  her,  but 
starting  wildly  from  the  bed,  she  threw 
herself  on  her  knees  before  him,  pro- 
tested her  innocence,  and  intreated  him 
not  to  leave  her. 

"  Oh,  Montraville  !  "  said  she,  "  kill 
me,  for  pity's  sake,  kill  me,  but  do  not 
doubt  my  fidelity.  Do  not  leave  me  in 
this  horrid  situation.  For  the  sake  of 
your  unborn  child,  oh,  spurn  not  the 
wretched  mother  from  you  !  " 

"  Charlotte,"  said  he,  with  a  firm 
voice,  "  I  shall  take  care  that  neither  you 
nor  your  child  want  for  anything  in  the 
approaching  painful  hour,  but  we  meet 
no  more." 


Charlotte  Temple. 


175 


Pie  then  endeavored  to  raise  her  from 
the  ground,  but  in  vain.  She  clung 
about  his  knees,  entreating  him  to  be- 
lieve her  innocent,  and  conjuring  Bel- 
cour  to  clear  up  the  dreadful  mystery. 

Belcour  cast  upon  Montraville  a  smile 
of  contempt.  It  irritated  him  almost  to 
madness. 

He  broke  from  the  feeble  arms  of  the 
distressed  girl. 

She  shrieked  and  fell  prostrate  on  the 
floor. 

Montraville  instantly  left  the  house, 
and  returned  hastily  to  the  city. 


CHAPTEK  XXIY. 

MYSTERY  DEVELOPED. 

Unfortunately  for  Charlotte,  about 
three  weeks  before  this  unhappy  rencon- 
tre, Major  Beauchamp,  being  ordered  to 


176  Charlotte  Temple. 


Khode  Island,  his  lady  had  accompanied 
him,  so  that  Charlotte  was  deprived  of 
her  friendly  advice  and  consoling  so- 
ciety. 

The  afternoon  on  which  Montraville 
had  visited  her  she  had  found  herself 
languid  and  fatigued,  and  after  making 
a  very  slight  dinner,  had  laid  down  to 
endeavor  to  recruit  her  exhausted  spirits, 
and,  contrary  to  her  expectations,  had 
fallen  asleep. 

She  had  not  been  long  laid  down  when 
Belcour  arrived;  for  he  took  every  op- 
portunity of  visiting  her,  and  striving  to 
awaken  her  resentment  against  Montra- 
ville. 

He  inquired  of  the  servant  where  her 
mistress  was,  and  being  told  she  was 
asleep,  took  up  a  book  to  amuse  himself. 

Having  sat  a  few  minutes,  he  by 
chance  cast  his  eyes  towards  the  road, 
and  saw  Montraville  approaching. 

He  instantly  conceived  the  diabolical 


Charlotte  Temple. 


177 


scheme  of  ruining  the  unhappy  Char- 
lotte in  his  opinion  for  ever. 

He  therefore  stole  softly  up-stairs,  and 
laying  himself  by  her  side  with  the 
greatest  precaution,  for  fear  she  would 
awake,  was  in  that  situation  discovered 
by  his  credulous  friend. 

When  Montraville  spurned  the  weep- 
ing Charlotte  from  him,  and  left  her  al- 
most distracted  with  terror  and  despair, 
Belcour  raised  her  from  the  floor,  and 
leading  her  down-stairs,  assumed  the  part 
of  a  tender,  consoling  friend. 

She  listened  to  the  arguments  he  ad- 
vanced, with  apparent  composure;  but 
this  was  only  the  calm  of  the  moment. 

The  remembrance  of  Montraville's  re- 
cent cruelty  again  rushed  upon  her 
mind;  she  pushed  him  from  her  with 
some  violence,  crying: 

"  Leave  me,  sir,  I  beseech  you ;  leave 
me,  for  much  I  fear  you  have  been  the 
cause  of  my  fidelity  being  suspected ;  go, 


178  Charlotte  Temple. 


leave  me  to  the  accumulated  miseries  my 
own  imprudence  has  brought  upon  me." 

She  then  left  him  with  precipitation, 
and  retiring  to  her  own  apartments, 
threw  herself  on  the  bed,  and  gave  vent 
to  an  agony  of  grief  which  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  describe. 

It  now  occurred  to  Belcour  that  she 
might  possibly  write  to  Montraville,  and 
endeavor  to  convince  him  of  her  inno- 
cence. He  was  well  aware  of  her  pa- 
thetic remonstrances,  and  sensible  of  the 
tenderness  of  Montraville's  heart,  re- 
solved to  prevent  any  letters  reaching 
him. 

He  therefore  called  the  servant,  and 
by  the  powerful  persuasion  of  a  bribe, 
prevailed  with  her  to  promise  whatever 
letters  her  mistress  might  write  should 
be  sent  to  him. 

He  then  left  a  polite,  tender  note  for 
Charlotte,  and  returned  to  New  York. 

His  first  business  was  to  seek  Montra- 


Charlotte  Temple.  179 


ville,  and  endeavor  to  convince  him  that 
what  had  happened  would  ultimately 
tend  to  his  happiness. 

He  found  him  in  his  apartment,  soli- 
tary, pensive,  and  wrapped  in  disagree- 
able reflections. 

"  Why,  how  now,  whining,  pining 
lover  ?  "  said  he,  clapping  him  on  the 
shoulder. 

Montraville  started;  a  momentary 
flush  of  resentment  crossed  his  cheek, 
but  instantly  gave  way  to  a  death-like 
paleness,  occasioned  by  painful  remem- 
brance— remembrance  awakened  by  that 
monitor,  whom,  though  we  may  in  vain 
endeavor,  we  can  never  entirely  silence. 

"  Belcour,"  said  he,  "  you  have  in- 
jured me  in  a  tender  point." 

"  Prithee,  J ack,"  replied  Belcour,  "  do 
not  make  a  serious  matter  of  it;  how 
could  I  refuse  the  girl's  advances?  and 
thank  Heaven  she  is  not  your  wife." 

"True,"  said  Montraville;  "but  she 


180  Charlotte  Temple, 

t 

was  innocent  when  I  first  knew  her.  It 
was  I  seduced  her,  Belcour.  Had  it  not 
been  for  me,  she  had  still  been  virtuous 
and  happy  in  the  affection  and  protection 
of  her  family. 

"  Pshaw,"  replied  Belcour,  laughing, 
"  if  you  had  not  taken  advantage  of  her 
easy  nature,  some  other  would,  and 
where  is  the  difference,  pray  ?  " 

"  I  wish  I  had  never  seen  her,"  cried 
he,  passionately,  and  starting  from  his 
seat.  "  Oh,  that  cursed  French  wo- 
man !  M  added  he  with  vehemence,  "  had 
it  not  been  for  her  I  might  have  been 
happy—" 

He  paused. 

"  With  Julia  Franklin,"  said  Belcour. 

The  name,  like  a  sudden  spark  of  elec- 
tric fire,  seemed  for  a  moment  to  sus- 
pend his  faculties — for  a  moment  he  was 
transfixed;  but  recovering,  he  caught 
Belcour's  hand,  and  cried : 

"  Stop — stop !  I  beseech  you,  name 


Charlotte  Temple.  181 


not  the  lovely  Julia  and  the  wretched 
Montraville  in  the  same  breath.  I  am 
a  seducer — a  mean,  ungenerous  seducer 
of  unsuspecting  innocence.  I  dare  not 
hope  that  purity  like  hers  would  stoop 
to  unite  itself  with  black,  premeditated 
guilt.  Yet,  by  heavens!  I  swear,  Bel- 
cour,  I  thought  I  never  could  forsake 
her;  but  the  heart  is  deceitful,  and  now 
I  can  plainly  discriminate  between  the 
impulse  of  a  youthful  passion,  and  the 
pure  flame  of  disinterested  affection." 

At  that  instant  Julia  Franklin  passed 
the  window,  leaning  on  her  uncle's  arm. 
She  courtesied  as  she  passed,  and  with  a 
bewitching  smile  of  modest  cheerfulness, 
said: 

"  Do  you  bury  yourselves  in  the  house 
this  fine  evening,  gents  ?  " 

There  was  something  in  the  voice,  the 
manner,  the  look,  that  was  altogether  ir- 
resistible. 

"  Perhaps  she  wishes  my  company," 


182  Charlotte  Temple. 


said  Montraville,  mentally,  as  he  snatch- 
ed up  his  hat.  "  If  I  thought  she  loved 
me,  I  would  confess  my  errors,  and  trust 
to  her  generosity  to  pity  and  pardon 
me." 

He  soon  overtook  her,  and  offering 
her  his  arm,  they  sauntered  to  pleasant, 
but  unfrequented  walks. 

Belcour  drew  Mr.  Franklin  on  one 
side,  and  entered  into  a  political  dis- 
course. They  walked  faster  than  the 
young  people,  and  Belcour,  by  some 
means,  contrived  to  lose  sight  of  them. 

It  was  a  fine  evening  in  the  begin- 
ning of  autumn ;  the  last  remains  of  day- 
light faintly  streaked  the  western  sky, 
while  the  moon  with  pale  and  virgin  lus- 
ter in  the  room  of  gorgeous  gold  and 
purple,  ornamented  the  canopy  of 
heaven  with  silver,  fleecy  clouds,  which 
now  and  then  half  hid  her  lovely  face, 
and,  by  partly  concealing,  heightened 
every  beauty;  the  zephyrs  whispered 


Charlotte  Temple.  183 


softly  through  the  trees,  which  now  be- 
gan to  shed  their  leafy  honors;  a  solemn 
silence  reigned;  and,  to  a  happy  mind, 
an  evening  such  as  this  would  give 
serenity,  and  calm,  unruffled  pleasure. 

But  to  Montraville,  while  it  soothed 
the  turbulence  of  his  passions,  it 
brought  increase  of  melancholy  reflec- 
tions. 

Julia  was  leaning  on  his  arm.  He 
took  her  hand  in  his,  and  pressing  it  ten- 
derly, sighed  deeply,  but  continued  si- 
lent. Julia  was  embarrassed;  she  wished 
to  break  a  silence  so  unaccountable,  but 
was  unable.  She  loved  Montraville; 
she  saw  he  was  unhappy,  and  wished  to 
know  the  cause  of  his  uneasiness,  but 
that  innate  modesty  which  nature  had 
implanted  in  the  female  breast,  pre- 
vented her  inquiring. 

"  I  am  bad  company,  Miss  Franklin," 
said  he,  at  last  recollecting  himself, 
"  but  I  have  met  with  something  to-day 


184  Charlotte  Temple. 


that  has  greatly  distressed  me,  and  I  can- 
not shake  off  the  disagreeable  impression 
it  has  made  on  my  mind." 

"  I  am  sorry/'  she  replied,  "  that  you 
have  any  cause  of  inquietude.  I  am  sure 
if  you  were  as  happy  as  you  deserve,  and 
as  all  your  friends  wish  you  " 

She  hesitated. 

"And  might  I,"  replied  he,  with  some 
animation,  "  presume  to  rank  the  amia- 
ble Julia  in  the  number  ?  " 

"Certainly,"  said  she;  "the  service 
you  have  rendered  me,  the  knowledge  of 
your  worth,  all  combine  to  make  me  es- 
teem you." 

"  Esteem,  my  lovely  Julia,"  said  he, 
passionately,  "  is  but  a  poor,  cold  word. 
I  would  if  I  dared — if  I  merited  your  at- 
tention— but  no,  I  must  not — honor  for- 
bids— I  am  beneath  your  notice,  Julia; 
I  -am  miserable  and  cannot  hope  to  be 
otherwise." 

"Alas  !  "  said  Julia,  "  I  pity  you." 


Charlotte  Temple.  185 


"  Oh,  thou  condescending  charmer  !  " 
said  he,  "  how  that  sweet  word  cheers  my 
heart.  Indeed,  if  yon  knew  all,  you 
would  pity;  but  at  the  same  time,  I  fear 
you  would  despise  me." 

Just  then  they  were  joined  by  Mr. 
Franklin  and  Belcour. 

It  had  interrupted  an  interesting  dis- 
course. They  found  it  impossible  to 
converse  on  different  subjects,  and  pro- 
ceeded home  in  silence. 

At  Mr.  Franklin's  door,  Montraville 
again  pressed  Julia's  hand,  and,  faintly 
articulating  "  good-night,"  retired  to  his 
lodgings,  dispirited  and  wretched,  from 
a  consciousness  that  he  deserved  not  the 
affection  with  which  he  plainly  saw  he 
was  honored. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


EECEPTIOX  OF  A  LETTER. 

"And  where  now  is  our  poor  Char- 
lotte ?  "  said  Mr.  Temple,  one  evening, 
as  the  cold  blasts  of  autumn  whistled 
rudely  over  the  heath,  and  the  yellow 
appearance  of  the  distant  wood,  spoke 
the  near  approach  of  winter.  In  vain 
the  cheerful  fire  blazed  on  the  hearth; 
in  vain  was  he  surrounded  by  all  the 
comforts  of  life;  the  parent  was  still 
alive  in  his  heart;  and  when  he  thought 
that  perhaps  his  once  darling  child  was 
ere  this  exposed  to  all  the  miseries  of 
want  in  a  distant  land,  without  a  friend 
to  soothe  and  comfort  her,  without  the 
benignant  look  of  compassion  to  cheer, 
or  the  angelic  voice  of  pity  to  pour  the 
balm  of  consolation  on  her  wounded 
heart;  when  he  thought  of  this,  his 

13<5 


Charlotte  lemple.  187 


whole  soul  dissolved  into  tenderness,and 
while  he  wiped  the  tear  of  anguish  from 
the  eye  of  his  patient,  uncomplaining 
Lucy,  he  struggled  to  suppress  the  sym- 
pathizing drop  that  started  in  his  own. 
"  Oh!  my  poor  girl  !  "  said  Mrs.  Tem- 
ple, "  how  must  she  be  altered,  else  sure- 
ly she  would  have  relieved  our  agoniz- 
ing minds  by  one  line  to  say  she  lived— 
to  say  she  had  not  quite  forgot  the  par- 
ents who  almost  idolized  her." 

"  Gracious  Heaven  !  "  said  Mr.  Tem- 
ple, starting  from  his  seat,  "  who  would 
wish  to  be  a  father  to  experience  the 
agonizing  pangs  inflicted  on  a  parent's 
heart  by  the  ingratitude  of  a  child  ?  " 
Mrs.  Temple  wept.  Her  father  took  her 
hand.  He  would  have  said:  "Be  com- 
forted, my  child  !  "  but  the  words  died 
on  his  tongue.  The  sad  silence  that 
ensued  was  interrupted  by  a  loud  rap  at 
the  door.  In  a  moment  a  servant  en- 
tered with  a  letter  in  his  hand. 


188 


Charlotte  Temple. 


Mrs.  Temple  took  it  from  him;  she 
cast  her  eyes  upon  the  superscription. 
She  knew  the  writing — "  'Tis  Char- 
lotte," said  she,  eagerly  breaking  the 
seal,  "  she  has  not  quite  forgot  us."  But 
before  she  had  half  gone  through  the 
contents,  a  sudden  sickness  seized  her; 
she  grew  cold  and  giddy,  and  putting  it 
into  her  husband's  hands,  she  cried: 
"  Eead  it;  I  cannot." 

Mr.  Temple  attempted  to  read  it 
aloud,  but  frequently  paused  to  give 
vent  to  his  tears. 

"  My  poor,  deluded  child  !  "  said  he. 
when  he  had  finished. 

"  Oh,  shall  we  not  forgive  the  dear 
penitent  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Temple.  "  We 
must,  we  will,  my  love;  she  is  willing  to 
return,  and  'tis  our  duty  to  receive  her." 

"  Father  of  mercy,"  said  Mr.  El- 
dridge,  raising  his  clasped  hands,  "  let 
me  but  live  once  more  to  see  the  dear 
wanderer  restored  to  her  afflicted  par- 


Charlotte  Temple.  189 


ents,  and  take  me  from  this  world  of  sor- 
row whenever  it  seemeth  best  to  Thy 
wisdom." 

"  Yes,  we  will  receive  her/'  said  Mr. 
Temple ;  "  we  will  endeavor  to  heal  her 
wounded  spirit,  and  speak  peace  and 
comfort  to  her  agitated  soul.  I  will 
write  to  her  to  return  immediately. " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Mrs.  Temple.  "  I  would, 
if  possible,  fly  to  her,  support  and  cheer 
the  dear  sufferer  in  the  approaching 
hour  of  distress,  and  tell  her  how  nearly 
penitence  is  allied  to  virtue.  Cannot 
we  go  and  conduct  her  home,  my  love?  " 
continued  she,  laying  her  hand  on  his 
arm.  "  My  father  will  surely  forgive 
our  absence  if  we  go  to  bring  home  his 
darling." 

"  You  cannot  go,  my  Lucy,"  said  Mr. 
Temple ;  "  the  delicacy  of  your  frame 
would  but  poorly  sustain  the  fatigue  of 
a  long  voyage;  but  I  will  go  and  bring 
the  gentle  penitent  to  your  arms.  We 
may  still  see  many  years  of  happiness." 


190 


Charlotte  Temple. 


The  struggle  in  the  bosom  of  Mrs. 
Temple  between  maternal  and  conjugal 
tenderness  was  long  and  painful.  At 
length  the  former  triumphed,  and  she 
consented  that  her  husband  should  set. 
forward  to  Xew  York  by  the  first  oppor- 
tunity. She  wrote  to  her  Charlotte  in 
the  tenderest,  most  consoling  manner, 
and  looked  forward  to  the  happy  hour 
when  she  would  again  embrace  her  with 
the  most  animated  hope. 


CHAPTEE  XXVI. 

WHAT  MIGHT  BE  EXPECTED. 

In  the  meantime  the  passion  Montra- 
ville  had  conceived  for  Julia  Franklin 
daily  increased,  and  he  saw  evidently 
how  much  he  was  beloved    by  that 


Charlotte  Temple.  191 


amiable  girl;  he  was  likewise  strongly 
impressed  with  an  idea  of  Charlotte's 
perfidy. 

What  wonder,  then,  if  he  gave  him- 
self up  to  the  delightful  sensation  which 
pervaded  his  bosom,  and  finding  no  ob- 
stacle arise  to  oppose  his  happiness,  he 
solicited  and  obtained  the  hand  of  Julia. 

A  few  days  before  his  marriage,  he 
thus  addressed  Belcour: 

"  Though  Charlotte,  by  her  aban- 
doned conduct,  has  thrown  herself  from 
my  protection,  I  still  hold  myself  bound 
to  support  her  till  relieved  from  her 
present  condition,  and  also  to  provide  for 
the  child.  I  do  not  intend  to  see  her 
again,  but  I  will  place  a  sum  of  money 
in  your  hands  which  will  amply  supply 
her  with  every  convenience,  but  should 
she  require  more,  let  her  have  it,  and 
I  will  see  it  repaid.  I  wish  I  could  pre- 
vail upon  the  poor,  deluded  girl  to  re- 
turn to  her  friends.    She  was  an  only 


192 


Charlotte  Temple. 


child,  and  I  make  no  doubt  but  they 
would  joyfully  receive  her.  It  would 
shock  me  greatly  to  see  her  leading  a  life 
of  infamy,  as  I  should  always  accuse 
myself  as  being  the  primary  cause  of  her 
errors.  If  she  should  choose  to  remain 
under  your  protection,  be  kind  to  her, 
Belcour,  I  conjure  you.  Let  not  satiety 
prompt  you  to  treat  her  in  such  a  man- 
ner as  may  drive  her  to  actions  which 
necessity  might  urge  hereto,  while  her 
better  reason  disapproves  them.  She 
shall  never  want  a  friend  while  I  live, 
but  I  never  more  desire  to  behold  her; 
her  presence  would  always  be  painful  to 
me,  and  a  glance  from  her  eye  would 
call  the  blush  of  conscious  guilt  into  my 
cheek.  I  will  write  her  a  letter,  which 
you  may  deliver  when  I  am  gone,  as  I 
shall  go  to  St.  Eustatia  the  day  after  my 
union  with  Julia,  who  will  accompany 
me." 

Belcour  promised  to  fulfil  the  request 


Charlotte  Temple.  193 


of  his  friend,  though  nothing  was 
further  from  his  intentions  than  the 
least  design  of  delivering  the  letter,  or 
making  Charlotte  acquainted  with  the 
provision  Montraville  had  made  for  her. 
He  was  bent  upon  the  complete  ruin  of 
the  unhappy  girl,  and  supposed,  by  re- 
ducing her  to  an  entire  dependence  upon 
him,  to  bring  her  by  degrees  to  consent 
to  gratify  his  ungenerous  passion. 

The  evening  before  the  day  appointed 
for  the  nuptials  of  Montraville  and  Ju- 
lia, the  former  retired  early  to  bed,  and, 
ruminating  on  the  past  scenes  of  his 
life,  suffered  the  keenest  remorse  in  the 
remembrance  of  Charlotte's  seduction. 

"  Poor  girl,"  said  he,  "  I  will  at  least 
write  and  bid  her  adieu;  I  will,  too,  en- 
deavor to  awaken  that  love  of  virtue  in 
her  bosom  which  her  unfortunate  at- 
tachment to  me  has  extinguished." 

He  took  up  the  pen  and  began  to 
write,  but   words   were   denied  him. 


194  Charlotte  Temple. 


How  could  he  address  the  woman  whom 
he  had  seduced,  and  whom,  though  he 
thought  unworthy  his  tenderness,  he 
was  about  to  bid  adieu  forever  ?  How 
could  he  tell  her  that  he  was  going  to 
abjure  her,  and  enter  into  the  most  in- 
dissoluble ties  with  another,  and  that  he 
could  not  even  own  the  infant  which 
she  bore  as  his  child  ?  Several  letters 
were  begun  and  destroyed;  at  length  he 
completed  the  following  : 

"  To  Charlotte  : — Though  I  have 
taken  up  my  pen  to  address  you,  my 
poor,  injured  girl,  I  feel  I  am  inade- 
quate to  the  task;  yet,  however  painful 
the  endeavor,  I  could  not  resolve  upon 
leaving  you  forever  without  one  kind 
line  to  bid  you  adieu — to  tell  you  how 
my  heart  bleeds  at  the  remembrance  of 
what  you  were  before  you  saw  the  hated 
Montraville. 

"  Even  now  imagination  paints  the 
scene,  when  torn  by  contending  pas- 


Charlotte  Temple.  195 


sions,  when  struggling  between  love  and 
duty,  you  fainted  in  my  arms  and  I 
lifted  you  into  the  chaise. 

"  I  see  the  agony  of  your  mind,  when, 
recovering,  you  found  yourself  on  the 
road  to  Portsmouth. 

"  But  how,  my  gentle  girl,  how  could 
you,  when  so  justly  impressed  with  the 
value  of  virtue,  how  could  you,  when 
loving  as  I  thought  you  loved  me,  yield 
to  the  solicitation  of  Belcour  ? 

"  Oh,  Charlotte,  conscience  tells  me 
it  was  I,  villian  that  I  am,  who  first 
taught  you  the  allurements  of  guilty 
pleasure;  it  was  I  who  dragged  you 
from  the  calm  repose  which  innocence 
and  virtue  ever  enjoy,  and  can  I,  dare  I 
tell  you  it  was  not  love  prompted  to  the 
horrid  deed  ?  No,  thou  dear,  fallen  an- 
gel; believe  your  repentant  Montraville 
when  he  tells  you  that  the  man  who 
truly  loves  will  never  betray  the  object 
of  his  affection. 


196  Charlotte  Temple. 


"  Adieu,  Charlotte  !  Could  you  still 
find  charms  in  a  life  of  unoffending  in- 
nocence, return  to  your  parents;  you 
shall  never  want  the  means  of  support 
both  for  yourself  and  child.  Oh  !  gra- 
cious Heaven  !  may  that  child  be  en- 
tirely free  from  the  vice  of  its  father 
and  the  weakness  of  its  mother. 

"  To-morrow — but  no,  I  cannot  tell 
you  what  to-morrow  will  produce — Bel- 
cour  will  inform  you,  he  also  has  cash 
for  you,  which  I  beg  you  will  ask  for 
whenever  you  may  want  it. 

"  Once  more,  adieu  !  Believe  me, 
could  I  hear  you  had  returned  to  your 
friends,  and  was  enjoying  that  tran- 
quility of  which  I  have  robbed  you,  I 
should  be  as  completely  happy  as  even 
you,  in  your  fondest  hours,  could  wish 
me.  But  till  then  a  gloom  will  obscure 
the  brightest  prospects  of 

"  Montr aville." 


Charlotte  Temple.  197 


After  he  had  sealed  this  letter  he 
threw  himself  on  the  bed  and  enjoyed  a 
few  hours'  repose. 

Early  in  the  morning  Belcour  tapped 
at  his  door. 

He  arose  hastily,  and  prepared  to 
meet  his  Julia  at  the  altar. 

"  This  is  the  letter  to  Charlotte/'  said 
he,  giving  it  to  Belcour;  "  take  it  to  her 
when  we  are  gone  to  Eustatia;  and  I 
conjure  you,  my  dear  friend,  not  to  use 
any  sophistical  arguments  to  prevent  her 
return  to  virtue;  but  should  she  incline 
that  way,  encourage  her  in  the  thought 
and  assist  her  to  put  her  design  into  exe- 
cution." 


CHAPTEK  XXVII. 


Pensive  she  mourn'd,  and  hung  her  languid  head, 
Like  a  fair  lily  overcharg'd  with  dew. 

Charlotte  had  now  been  left  almost 
three  months  a  prey  to  her  own  melan- 
choly reflections — sad  companions,  in- 
deed; nor  did  any  one  break  in  upon  her 
solitude  but  Belcour,  who  once  or  twice 
called  to  inquire  after  her  health,  and 
tell  her  he  had  in  vain  endeavored  to 
bring  Montraville  to  hear  reason;  and 
once,  but  only  once,  was  her  mind 
cheered  by  the  receipt  of  an  affectionate 
letter  from  Mrs.  Beauchamp. 

Often  she  had  written  to  her  per- 
fidous  seducer,  and  with  the  most  per- 
suasive eloquence  endeavored  to  con- 
vince him  of  her  innocence;  but  these 
letters  were  never  suffered  to  reach  the 
hands  of  Montraville,  or  they  must, 
though  on  the  eve  of  his  marriage,  have 

198 


Charlotte  Temple.  199 


prevented  liis  deserting  the  wretched 
girl. 

Real  anguish  of  heart  had  in  a  great 
measure  faded  her  charms;  her  cheeks 
were  pale  from  want  of  rest,  and  her 
eyes,  by  frequent,  indeed,  almost  con- 
tinued weeping,  were  sunken  and  heavy. 
Sometimes  a  gleam  of  hope  would  play 
about  her  heart  when  she  thought  of  her 
parents. 

"  They  cannot,  surely,"  she  would 
say,  "  refuse  to  forgive  me ;  or  should 
they  deny  their  pardon  to  me,  they  will 
not  hate  my  infant  on  account  of  its 
mother's  errors." 

How  often  did  the  poor  mourner  wish 
for  the  consoling  presence  of  the  benev- 
olent Mrs.  Beauchamp. 

"  If  she  were  here  she  would  certainly 
comfort  me,  and  soothe  the  distraction 
of  my  soul." 

She  was  sitting  one  afternoon, 
wrapped  in  these  melancholy  reflections, 


200  Charlotte  Temple. 


when  she  was  interrupted  by  the  en- 
trance of  Belcour.  Great  as  the  altera- 
tion Avas  which  incessant  sorrow  had 
made  on  her  person,  she  was  still  inter- 
esting, still  charming,  and  the  unhal- 
lowed flame,  which  had  urged  Belcour 
to  plant  dissension  between  her  and 
Montraville,  still  raged  in  his  bosom;  he 
was  determined,  if  possible,  to  make  her 
his  mistress;  nay,  he  had  even  conceived 
the  diabolical  scheme  of  taking  her  to 
Xew  York,  and  making  her  appear  in 
every  public  place  where  it  was  likely 
she  should  meet  Montraville,  that  he 
might  be  a  witness  of  his  unmanly 
triumph. 

When  he  entered  the  room  where 
Charlotte  was  sitting;  he  assumed  the 
look  of  tender  consolatory  friendship. 

"  And  how  does  my  lovely  Char- 
lotte ?"  said  he,  taking  her  hand;  "I 
fear  you  are  not  so  well  as  I  could  wish." 

"  I  am  not  well,  Mr.  Belcour,"  said 


Charlotte  Temple.  201 


she,  "very  far  from  it;  but  the  pains  and 
infirmities  of  the  body  I  could  easily 
bear,  nay,  submit  to  them  with  patience, 
were  they  not  aggravated  by  the  most 
insupportable  anguish  of  my  mind." 

"  You  are  not  happy,  Charlotte  \  " 
said  he,  with  a  look  of  well-dissembled 
sorrow. 

"  Alas  !  "  replied  she,  mournfully 
shaking  her  head,  "  how  can  I  be  happy, 
deserted  as  I  am,  without  a  friend  of  my 
own  sex  to  whom  I  can  unburthen  my 
full  heart;  nay,  my  fidelity  suspected  by 
the  very  man  for  whom  I  have  sacrificed 
everything  valuable  in  life — for  whom  I 
have  made  myself  a  poor,  despised  crea- 
ture, an  outcast  from  society,  an  object 
only  of  contempt  and  pity  ?  " 

"  You  speak  too  meanly  of  yourself, 
Miss  Temple;  there  is  no  one  who  would 
dare  to  treat  you  with  contempt.  All 
who  have  the  pleasure  of  knowing  you, 
must  admire  and  esteem.    You  are  lone- 


202 


Charlotte  Temple. 


ly  here,  my  dear  girl;  give  me  leave 
to  conduct  you  to  New  York,  where  the 
agreeable  society  of  some  ladies  I  will 
introduce  you  to  will  dispel  the  sad 
thoughts,  and  I  shall  again  see  return- 
ing cheerfulness  animate  those  lovely 
features." 

"  Oh,  never — never  !  "  cried  Char- 
lotte, emphatically.  "  The  virtuous 
part  of  my  sex  will  scorn  me,  and  I  will 
never  associate  with  infamy.  No,  Bel- 
cour,  here  let  me  hide  my  shame  and 
sorrow;  here  let  me  spend  my  few  re- 
maining days  in  obscurity,  unknown 
and  unpitied;  here  let  me  die  unla- 
mented,and  my  name  sink  into  ob- 
livion." 

Here  her  tears  stopped  her  utterance. 

Belcour  was  awed  to  silence;  he  dared 
not  to  interrupt  her,  and  after  a  mom- 
ment's  pause  she  proceeded  : 

"  I  once  had  conceived  the  thought 
of  going  to  New  York  to  seek  out  the 


Charlotte  Temple.  203 


still  dear,  though  cruel,  ungenerOtls 
Montraville — to  throw  myself  at  his 
feet  and  entreat  his  compassion — Heav- 
en knows,  not  for  myself;  if  I  am  no 
longer  beloved,  I  will  not  be  indebted 
to  his  pity  to  redress  my  injuries,  but  I 
would  have  knelt  and  entreated  him  not 

to  forsake  my  poor  unborn  " 

She  could  say  no  more  ;  a  crimson 
glow  rushed  over  her  cheeks,  and,  cover- 
ing her  face  with  her  hands,  she  sobbed 
aloud. 

Something  like  humanity  was  awak- 
ened in  Belcour's  breast  by  this  pathetic 
speech.  He  arose  and  walked  toward 
the  window,  but  the  selfish  passion 
which  had  taken  possession  of  his  heart 
soon  stifled  these  finer  emotions,  and  he 
thought,  if  Charlotte  was  once  convinced 
she  had  no  longer  dependence  upon 
Montraville,  she  would  more  readily 
throw  herself  upon  his  protection.  De- 
termined, therefore,  to  inform  her  of 


204 


Charlotte  Temple. 


all  that  had  happened,  he  again  resumed  , 
his  seat,  and,  finding  she  began  to  be 
composed,  inquired  if   she    had  ever 
heard  from  Montraville  since  the  un- 
hapy  rencontre  in  her  bed-chamber. 

"  Ah,  no  !  "  said  she,  "  I  fear  I  shall 
never  hear  from  him  again." 

"  I  am  greatly  of  your  opinion/'  said 
Belcour,  "  for  he  has  been,  for  some 
time  past,  greatly  attached  " 

At  the  word  "  attached,"  a  death-like 
paleness  overspread  the  countenance  of 
Charlotte,  but  she  applied  some  harts- 
horn which  stood  beside  her,  and  Bel- 
cour proceeded  : 

"  He  has  been  for  some  time  past 
greatly  attached  to  one  Miss  Franklin, 
a  pleasing,  lively  girl,  with  a  large  for- 
tune." 

"  She  may  be  richer,  may  be  hand- 
somer," cried  Charlotte,  "  but  cannot 
love  him  so  well.  Oh  !  may  she  beware 
of  his  art,  and  not  trust  him  too  far,  as 
I  have  done." 


Charlotte  Temple. 


205 


"  He  addresses  her  publicly,"  said  he, 
"  and  it  was  rumored  they  were  to  be 
married  before  he  sailed  for  Eustatia, 
whither  his  company  is  ordered." 

"  Belcour,"  said  Charlotte,  seizing 
his  hand,  and  gazing  at  him  earnestly, 
while  her  pale  lips  trembled  with  con- 
vulsive agony.  "  Oh,  tell  me,  and  tell 
me  truly,  I  beseech  you,  do  you  think 
he  can  be  such  a  villian  as  to  marry  an- 
other woman,  and  leave  me  to  die  with 
want  and  misery  in  a  strange  land  ? 
Tell  me  what  you  think;  I  can  bear  it 
very  well;  I  will  not  shrink  from  this 
heaviest  stroke  of  fate;  I  have  deserved 
my  afflictions,  and  I  will  endeavor  to 
bear  them  as  I  ought." 

"  I  fear,"  said  Belcour,  "  he  can  be 
that  villain." 

"  Perhaps,"  cried  she,  eagerly,  inter- 
rupting him,  "  perhaps  he  is  married  al- 
ready; come,  let  me  know  the  worst," 
continued  she,  with  an  affected  look  of 


206 


Charlotte  Temple. 


composure;  "you  need  not  be  afraid;  I 
shall  not  send  the  fortunate  lady  a  bowl 
of  poison  !  99 

"  Well,  then,  my  dear  girl/'  said  he, 
deceived  by  her  appearance,  "  they  were 
married  on  Thursday,  and  yesterday 
morning  they  sailed  for  Eustatia." 

"  Married — gone — say  you  ?  "  cried 
she,  in  distracted  accents;  "what,  with- 
out a  farewell,  without  one  thought  on 
my  unhappy  situation  \  Oh,  Montra- 
ville  !  may  God  forgive  your  perfidy  !  " 

She  shrieked,  and  Belcour  sprang 
forward  just  in  time  to  prevent  her  fall- 
ing to  the  floor. 

Alarming  faintings  now  succeeded 
each  other  and  she  was  conveyed  to  her 
bed,  from  whence  she  earnestly  prayed 
she  might  never  more  arise. 

Belcour  stayed  with  her  that  night, 
and  in  the  morning  found  her  in  a  high 
fever. 

The  fits  she  had  been  seized  with 


Charlotte  Temple.  207 


greatly  terrified  him;  and  confined  as 
she  was  now  to  a  bed  of  sickness,  she 
was  no  longer  an  object  of  desire;  it  is 
true,  for  several  days  he  went  constantly 
to  see  her,  but  her  pale,  emaciated  ap- 
pearance disgusted  him;  his  visits  be- 
came less  frequent;  he  forgot  the  solemn 
charge  given  him  by  Montraville;  he 
even  forgot  the  money  entrusted  to  his 
care;  and  the  burning  blush  of  indigna- 
tion and  shame  tinges  my  cheek  while 
I  write  it,  this  disgrace  to  humanity 
and  manhood  at  length  forgot  even  the 
injured  Charlotte;  and,  attracted  by  the 
blooming  health  of  a  farmer's  daughter, 
whom  he  had  seen  in  his  frequent  ex- 
cursions to  the  country,  he  left  the  un- 
happy girl  to  sink  unnoticed  to  the 
grave,  a  prey  to  sickness,  grief  and 
penury,  while  he,  having  triumphed 
over  the  virtue  of  the  artless  cottager, 
rioted  in  all  the  intemperance  of  luxury 
and  lawless  pleasure. 


CHAPTEE  XXVIII. 


"  Bless  my  heart  !  "  cries  my  young, 
volatile  reader,  "  I  shall  never  have  pa- 
tience to  get  through  this  volume,  there 
are  so  many  ahs  and  ohs  !  so  much  faint- 
ing, tears  and  distress.  I  am  sick  to 
death  of  the  subject." 

My  dear,  cheerful,  innocent  girl  (for 
innocent  I  will  suppose  you  to  be,  or 
you  would  acutely  feel  the  woes  of  Char- 
lotte), did  conscience  say,  thus  might  it 
have  been  with  me,  had  not  Providence 
interposed  to  snatch  me  from  destruc- 
tion ?  Therefore,  my  lively,  innocent 
girl,  I  must  request  your  patience.  I 
am  writing  a  tale  of  truth;  I  mean  to 
write  it  to  the  heart.  But,  if  perchance 
the  heart  is  rendered  impenetrable  by 
unbounded  prosperity,  or  a  continuance 
in  vice,  I  expect  not  my  tale  to  please, 
nay,  I  even  expect  it  will  be  thrown  bv 

208 


Charlotte  Temple.  209 


with  disgust.  But  softly,  gentle  fair 
one,  I  pray  you  throw  it  not  aside  till 
you  have  perused  the  whole.  You  may 
find  something  therein  to  repay  you  for 
the  trouble.  Methinks  I  see  a  sarcastic 
smile  sit  on  your  countenance. 

"  And  what/'  cry  you,  "  does  the  con- 
ceited author  suppose  we  can  glean  from 
the  pages,  if  Charlotte  is  held  up  as  an 
object  of  terror,  to  prevent  us  from  fall- 
ing into  guilty  errors  ?  Does  not  La 
Rue  triumph  in  her  shame  ?  and,  by 
adding  art  to  guilt,  obtain  the  affection 
of  a  worthy  man  and  rise  to  a  station 
where  she  is  held  with  respect,  and 
cheerfully  received  into  all  companies  ? 
What,  then,  is  the  moral  you  would  in- 
culcate 1  Would  you  wish  us  to  think 
that  a  deviation  from  virtue,  if  covered 
by  art  and  hypocrisy,  is  not  an  object  of 
detestation,  but  on  the  contrary,  shall 
raise  us  to  fame  and  honor,  while  the 
hapless  girl  who  falls  a  victim  to  her  too 


210  Charlotte  Temple. 


great  sensibility,  shall  be  loaded  with 
ignominy  and  shame  ?  " 

]STo,  my  fair  querist,  I  mean  no  such 
thing. 

Remember  the  endeavors  of  the 
wicked  are  often  suffered  to  prosper, 
that  in  the  end  their  fall  may  be  at- 
tended with  more  bitterness  of  heart, 
while  the  cup  of  affliction  is  poured  out 
for  wise  and  salutary  ends,  and  they 
who  are  compelled  to  drain  it  even  to  the 
bitter  dregs,  often  find  comfort  at  the 
bottom ;  the  tear  of  penitence  blots  their 
offence  from  the  book  of  fate,  and  they 
rise  from  the  heavy,  painful  trial,  puri- 
fied and  fit  for  a  mansion  in  the  king- 
dom of  eternity. 

Yes,  my  young  friends,  the  tear  of 
compassion  shall  fall  for  the  fate  of 
Charlotte,  while  the  name  of  La  Rue 
shall  be  detested  and  despised.  For 
Charlotte  the  soul  melts  with  sympathy; 
for  La  Rue  it  feels  nothing  but  horror 
and  contempt. 


Charlotte  Temple.  211 


But  perhaps  your  gay  hearts  would 
rather  follow  the  fortunate  Mrs.  Cray- 
ton  through  the  scenes  of  pleasure  and 
dissipation  in  which  she  was  engaged 
than  listen  to  the  complaints  and  mis- 
eries of  Charlotte.  I  will  for  once  oblige 
you,  I  will  for  once  follow  her  to  mid- 
night revels,  balls  and  scenes  of  gayety, 
for  in  such  she  was  constantly  engaged. 

I  have  said  her  person  was  lovely ;  let 
us  add  that  she  was  surrounded  by  splen- 
dor and  affluence,  and  he  must  know  but 
little  of  the  world  who  can  wonder  (how- 
ever faulty  such  a  woman's  conduct)  at 
her  being  followed  by  the  men  and  her 
company  courted  by  the  women.  In 
short,  Mrs.  Crayton  was  the  universal 
favorite;  she  set  the  fashions;  she  was 
toasted  by  the  gentlemen,  and  copied  by 
the  ladies. 

Colonel  Crayton  was  a  domestic  man 
— could  he  be  happy  with  such  a 
woman  ?    Impossible.  Remonstrance 


212 


Charlotte  Temple. 


was  vain.  He  might  as  well  have 
preached  to  the  wind  as  endeavor  to 
persuade  her  from  any  action,  however 
ridiculous,  on  which  she  had  set  her 
mind;  in  short,  after  a  little  ineffectual 
struggle,  he  gave  up  the  attempt  and 
left  her  to  follow  the  bent  of  her  own 
inclinations. 

What  those  were,  I  think  the  reader 
must  have  seen  enough  of  her  character 
to  form  a  just  idea. 

Among  the  number  who  paid  their 
devotions  at  her  shrine,  she  singled  out 
one,  a  young  ensign  of  mean  birth,  in- 
different education,  and  wTeak  intellect. 

How  such  a  man  came  into  the  army 
we  hardly  can  account  for;  and  how  he 
afterwards  rose  to  posts  of  honor  is  like- 
wise strange  and  wonderful. 

But  fortune  is  blind,  and  so  are  those, 
too,  frequently,  who  have  the  power  of 
dispensing  her  favors;  else  why  do  we 
see  fools  and  knaves  at  the  very  top  of 


Charlotte  Temple.  213 


the  wheel,  while  patient  merit  sinks  to 
the  extreme  of  the  opposite  abyss  ?  But 
we  may  form  a  thousand  conjectures  on 
this  subject,  and  yet  never  hit  the  right. 
Let  us,  therefore,  endeavor  to  deserve 
her  smiles,  and  whether  we  succeed  or 
not,  we  shall  feel  more  innate  satisfac- 
tion than  thousands  of  those  who  bask 
in  the  sunshine  of  her  favor  unworthily. 

But  to  return  to  Mrs.  Crayton.  This 
young  man,  whom  I  shall  distinguish  by 
the  name  of  Corydon,  was  the  reigning 
favorite  of  her  heart.  He  escorted  her 
to  the  play,  danced  with  her  at  every 
ball,  and,  when  indisposition  prevented 
her  going  out,  it  was  he  alone  who  was 
permitted  to  cheer  the  gloomy  solitude 
to  which  she  was  obliged  to  confine  her- 
self. 

Did  she  ever  think  of  poor  Charlotte  'I 
If  she  did,  my  clear  miss,  it  was  only  to 
laugh  at  the  poor  girl's  want  of  spirit  in 
consenting  to  be  moped  up  in  the  conn- 


214  Charlotte  Temple. 


try,  while  Montraville  was  enjoying  all 
the  pleasures  of  a  gay,  dissipated  city. 

When  she  heard  of  his  marriage,  she 
smilingly  said  :  "  So  there's  an  end  of 
Madame  Charlotte's  hopes.  I  wonder 
who  will  take  her  now,  or  what  will  be- 
come of  the  little  affected  prude  ?  " 

But,  as  you  have  led  to  the  subject,  I 
think  we  may  as  well  return  to  the  dis- 
tressed Charlotte,  and  not,  like  the  un- 
feeling Mrs.  Crayton,  shut  our  hearts  to 
the  call  of  humanity. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

WE  GO  FORWARD  AGAIN. 

The  strength  of  Charlotte's  constitu- 
tion combated  against  her  disorder,  and 
she  began  slowly  to  recover,  though  she 
still  labored  under  a  violent  depression 


Charlotte  Temple.  215 


of  spirits.  How  must  that  depression  be 
decreased,  when  examining  her  little 
store,  she  found  herself  reduced  to  one 
solitary  guinea,  and  that  during  her  ill- 
ness the  attendance  of  an  apothecary  and 
nurse,  together  wkh  many  other  un- 
avoidable expenses,  had  involved  her  in 
debt,  from  which  she  saw  no  method  of 
extricating  herself. 

As  to  the  faint  hope  which  she  had 
entertained  of  hearing  from  and  being 
relieved  by  her  parents,  it  now  entirely 
forsook  her,  for  it  was  about  four  months 
since  her  letter  was  dispatched,  and  she 
had  received  no  answer;  she,  therefore, 
imagined  her  conduct  had  either  entirely 
alienated  their  affection  from  her,  or 
broken  their  hearts,  and  she  must  never 
more  hope  to  receive  their  blessings. 

Never  did  any  human  being  wish  for 
death  with  greater  fervency  or  juster 
cause,  yet  she  had  too  just  a  sense  of  the 
duties,  of  the  Christian  religion  to  at- 


216  Charlotte  Temple. 


tempt  to  put  a  period  to  her  own  exist- 
ence. 

"  I  have  but  to  be  patient  a  little 
longer,"  she  would  cry,  and  nature,  fa- 
tigued and  fainting,  will  throw  off  this 
heavy  load  of  mortality,  and  I  shall  be 
relieved  from  all  my  sufferings." 

It  was  one  cold,  stormy  day  in  the  lat- 
ter end  of  December,  as  Charlotte  sat  by 
a  handful  of  fire,  the  low  state  of  her 
finances  not  allowing  her  to  replenish 
her  stock  of  fuel,  and  prudence  teach- 
ing her  to  be  careful  of  what  she  had, 
when  she  was  surprised  by  the  entrance 
of  a  farmer's  wife,  who,  without  much 
ceremony,  seated  herself  and  began  this 
curious  harangue  : 

"  I'm  come  to  see  if  as  how  you  can 
pay  your  rent,  because  as  how  we  hear 
Captain  Montable  is  gone  away,  and  it's 
fifty  to  one  if  he  b'ant  killed  afore  he 
comes  back  again,  and  then,  miss  or 
ma'am,  or  whatever  you  may  be,  as  I 


Charlotte  Temple.  217 


was  saying  to  my  husband,  where  are  we 
to  look  for  our  money  ?  " 

This  was  a  stroke  altogether  unex- 
pected by  Charlotte. 

She  knew  so  little  of  the  world  that 
she  had  never  bestowed  a  thought  on 
the  payment  of  the  rent  of  the  house; 
she  knew,  indeed,  that  she  owed  a  good 
deal,  but  this  was  never  reckoned  among 
the  others;  she  was  thunderstruck;  she 
hardly  knew  what  answer  to  make,  yet 
it  was  absolutely  necessary  she  should 
say  something,  and  judging  of  the  gen- 
tleness of  every  female  disposition  by 
her  own,  she  thought  the  best  way  to  in- 
terest the  woman  in  her  favor  would  be 
to  tell  her  candidly  to  what  a  situation 
she  was  reduced,  and  how  little  proba- 
bility there  was  of  her  ever  paying  any- 
body. 

Alas  !  poor  Charlotte;  how  confined 
was  her  knowledge  of  human  nature,  or 
she  would  have  been  convinced  that  the 


218  Charlotte  Temple. 


only  way  to  endure  the  friendship  and 
assistance  of  your  surrounding  acquaint- 
ance, is  to  convince  them  that  you  do 
not  require,  for  when  once  the  petrify- 
ing aspect  of  distress  and  penury  appear, 
whose  qualities,  like  Medusa's  head,  can 
change  to  stone  all  that  look  upon  it; 
when  once  the  Gorgon  claims  acquaint- 
ance with  us,  the  phantom  of  friendship, 
that  before  courted  our  notice,  will  van- 
ish into  unsubstantial  air,  and  the  whole 
world  before  us  appear  a  barren  waste. 

Pardon  me,  ye  dear  spirits  of  benevo- 
lence, whose  benign  smile  and  cheerful- 
giving  hands  have  strewed  sweet  flowers 
on  many  a  thorny  path  through  which 
my  wayward  fate  forced  me  to  pass; 
think  not,  that  in  condemning  the  un- 
feeling texture  of  the  human  heart,  I 
forget  the  spring  from  whence  flow  all 
the  comforts  I  enjoy;  oh,  no  ! 

I  look  up  to  you  as  the  bright  constel- 
lations, gathering  new  splendors  from 


Charlotte  Temple.  219 


the  surrounding  darkness;  but,  ah  ! 
while  I  adore  the  benignant  rays  that 
cheered  and  illumined  my  heart,  I 
mourn  that  their  influence  cannot  ex- 
tend to  all  the  sons  and  daughters  of 
affliction. 

"  Indeed,  madam,"  said  poor  Char- 
lotte, in  a  tremulous  accent,  kk  I  am  at  a 
loss  what  to  do.  Montraville  placed  me 
here  and  promised  to  defray  my  ex- 
penses; but  he  has  forgotten  his  prom- 
ise; he  has  forsaken  me,  and  I  have  no 
friend  who  either  has  power  or  will  to 
relieve  me.  Let  me  hope,  as  you  see  my 
unhappy  situation,  your  charity  " 

"  Charity  !  "  cried  the  woman,  im- 
patiently interrupting  her.  "  Charity, 
indeed;  why,  mistress,  charity  begins  at 
home,  and  I  have  seven  children  at 
home — honest,  lawful  children;  and  it 
is  my  duty  to  keep  them;  and  do  you 
think  I  shall  give  away  my  property  to 
a  nasty,  impudent  hussy,  to  maintain 


220  Charlotte  Temple. 


her  and  her  bastard  ?  As  I  was  saying 
to  my  husband  the  other  day,  what  will 
this  world  come  to  ?  Honest  women 
are  nothing  nowadays,  while  the  harlot- 
ings  are  set  up  for  fine  ladies,  and  look 
on  us  no  more  nor  the  dirt  they  walk 
upon  ;  but  let  me  tell  you,  my  fine 
spoken  ma'am,  I  must  have  my  money; 
so  seeing  as  how  you  can't  pay  it,  why, 
you  must  troop,  and  leave  all  your  gim- 
cracks  and  fal-de-rals  behind  you.  I 
don't  ask  for  more  than  my  right,  and 
nobody  shall  go  for  to  hinder  me  from 
it." 

"  Oh,  Heaven  !  "  cried  Charlotte, 
clasping  her  hands,  "  what  will  become 
of  me  ?  " 

"  Come  on  ye  !  "  retorted  the  unfeel- 
ing wretch.  "  Why,  go  to  the  barrack^ 
and  work  for  a  morsel  of  bread;  wash 
and  mend  the  soldiers'  clothes,  and  cook 
their  victuals,  and  not  expect  to  live  in 
idleness  on  honest  peoples'  means.  Oh, 


Charlotte  Temple. 


221 


1  wish  I  could  see  the  day  when  all  such 
cattle  were  obliged  to  work  hard  and  eat 
little;  it's  only  what  they  deserve." 

"  Father  of  mercy  !  "  cried  Charlotte, 
"  I  acknowledge  Thy  correction  just,  but 
prepare  me,  I  beseech  Thee,  for  the  por- 
tion of  misery  Thou  may'st  please  to  lay. 
before  me." 

"  Well,"  said  the  woman,  "  I  shall  go 
and  tell  my  husband  as  how  you  can't 
pay;  and  so,  d'ye  see,  ma'am,  get  ready 
to  be  packing  away  this  very  night,  for, 
you  would  not  stay  another  night  in  this 
house,  though  I  were  sure  you  would  lay 
in  the  street." 

Charlotte  bowed  her  head  in  silence, 
but  the  anguish  of  her  heart  was  too 
great  to  permit  her  to  articulate  a  single 
word. 


CHAPTEK  XXX. 

And  what  is  friendship  but  a  name, 

A  charm  that  lulls  to  sleep — 
A  shade  that  follows  wealth  and  fame, 

But  leaves  the  wretch  to  weep! 

—Goldsmith. 

When  Charlotte  was  left  to  herself, 
she  began  to  think  what  course  she  must 
take,  or  to  whom  she  should  apply,  to 
prevent  her  perishing  from  want,  or 
perhaps  that  very  night  falling  a  victim 
to  the  inclemency  of  the  season. 

After  many  perplexed  thoughts  she 
at  last  determined  to  set  out  for  Xew 
York  and  inquire  out  Mrs.  Crayton, 
from  whom  she  had  no  doubt  but  she 
should  receive  immediate  relief  as  soon 
as  her  distress  was  made  known.  She 
had  no  sooner  formed  this  resolution 
than  she  resolved  immediately  to  put  it 
into  execution;  she  therefore  wrote  the 
following  little  billet  to  Mrs.  Crayton, 
thinking  if  she  should  have  company 

222 


Charlotte  Temple.  223 


with  her,  it  would  be  better  to  send  in 
the  request  to  see  her. 

"  To  Mrs.  Craytox  : 

"  Madam  : — When  we  left  our  na- 
tive land,  that  dear  happy  land  which 
contains  all  that  is  dear  to  the  wretched 
Charlotte,  our  prospects  were  the  same; 
we  both,  pardon  me,  madam,  if  I  say, 
we  both  too  easily  followed  the  impulses 
of  our  treacherous  hearts,  and  trusted 
our  happiness  on  a  tempestuous  ocean, 
where  mine  has  been  wrecked  and  lost 
forever;  you  have  been  more  fortunate 
— you  are  united  to  a  man  of  honor  and 
humanity,  united  by  the  most  sacred 
ties,  respected,  esteemed,  admired,  and 
surrounded  by  innumerable  blessings  of 
which  I  am  bereaved — enjoying  those 
pleasures  which  have  fled  my  bosom, 
never  to  return,  alas!  sorrow  and  deep 
regret  have  taken  their  place. 

"  Behold  me,  madam,  a  poor,  forsaken 


224: 


Charlotte  Temple. 


wanderer,  who  has  not  where  to  lay  her 
weary  head,  wherewith  to  supply  the 
wants  of  nature,  or  to  shield  her  from  in- 
clemency of  the  weather. 

"  To  you  I  sue,  to  you  I  look  for  pity 
and  relief.  I  ask  not  to  be  received  as 
an  intimate  or  equal;  only  for  charity's 
sweet  sake,  receive  me  into  your  hos- 
pitable mansion,  allot  me  the  meanest 
apartment  in  it,  and  let  me  breathe  out 
my  soul  in  prayers  for  your  happiness; 
I  cannot,  I  feel  I  cannot  bear  up  under 
the  accumulated  woes  that  bear  in  upon 
me;  but  oh,  my  dear  madam,  for  the 
love  of  Heaven,  suffer  me  not  to  expire 
in  the  street;  and  when  I  am  at  peace, 
as  soon  I  shall  be,  extend  your  compas- 
sion to  my  poor,  helpless  offspring, 
should  it  please  Heaven  that  it  survive 
its  unhappy  mother. 

"A  gleam  of  joy  breaks  in  on  my  be- 
nighted soul,  while  I  reflect  that  you  can- 
not, will  not,  refuse  your  protection  to 
the  heart-broken  Charlotte." 


Charlotte  Temple.  225 


When  Charlotte  had  finished  this  let- 
ter, late  as  it  was  in  the  afternoon,  and 
though  the  snow  began  to  fall  very  fast, 
she  tied  up  a  few  necessaries,  which  she 
had  prepared  against  her  expected  con- 
finement, and  terrified  lest  she  should  be 
again  exposed  to  the  insults  of  her  bar- 
barous landlady,  more  dreadful  to  her 
wounded  spirit  than  either  storm  or 
darkness,  she  set  forward  for  New  York. 

It  may  be  asked  by  those  who,  in  a 
work  of  this  kind,  love  to  cavil  at  every 
trifling  omission,  whether  Charlotte  did 
not  possess  any  valuable  of  which  she 
could  have  disposed,  and  by  that  means 
have  supported  herself  till  Mrs.  Beau- 
champ's  return,  when  she  would  have 
been  certain  of  receiving  every  tender 
attention  which  compassion  and  friend- 
ship could  dictate;  but  let  me  entreat 
these  wise,  penetrating  gentleman  to  re- 
flect, that  when  Charlotte  left  England, 
it  was  in  such  haste  that  there  was  no 


226 


Charlotte  Temple. 


time  to  purchase  anything  more  than 
what  was  wanted  for  immediate  use  upon 
the  voyage;  and  after  the  arrivel  at  New 
York,  Montraville's  affection  soon  be- 
gan to  decline,  so  that  her  wardrobe  con- 
sisted only  of  necessaries;  and  as  to  the 
baubles,  with  which  fond  lovers  often 
load  their  mistresses,  she  possessed  not 
one,  except  a  plain  gold  locket  of  small 
value,  which  contained  a  lock  of  her 
mother's  hair,  and  which  the  great  ex- 
tremity of  want  could  not  have  forced 
her  to  part  with. 

The  distance  from  the  house  which 
our  suffering  heroine  occupied,  to  New 
York,  was  not  very  great;  yet  the  snow 
fell  so  fast,  and  the  cold  was  so  intense, 
that,  being  unable  from  her  situation  to 
walk  quick,  she  found  herself  almost 
sinking  with  cold  and  fatigue  before  she 
reached  the  town;  her  garments,  which 
were  merely  suitable  to  the  summer  sea- 
son, being  an  undress  robe  of  plain  white 


Charlotte  Temple.  227 


muslin,  were  wet  through;  and  a  thin, 
black  coat  and  bonnet,  very  improper 
habiliments  for  such  a  climate,  but 
poorly  defended  her  from  the  cold. 

In  this  situation  she  reached  the  city, 
and  inquired  of  a  foot-soldier  whom  she 
met,  the  way  to  Colonel  Crayton's. 

"  Bless  you,  my  sweet  lady/'  said  the 
soldier,  with  a  voice  and  look  of  compas- 
sion, "  I  will  show  you  the  way  with  all 
my  heart;  but  if  you  are  going  to  make 
a  petition  to  Madame  Crayton,  it  is  all  to 
no  purpose,  I  assure  you;  if  you  please, 
I  will  conduct  you  to  Mr.  Franklin's, 
though  Miss  Julia  is  married  and  gone, 
yet  the  old  gentleman  is  very  good." 

"Julia  Franklin,"  said  Charlotte; 
"  is  she  not  married  to  Montraville  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  soldier,  "  and  may 
God  bless  them,  for  a  better  officer  never 
lived,  he  is  so  good  to  us  all;  and  as  to 
Miss  J ulia,  all  the  poor  folks  almost  wor- 
ship her." 


228  Charlotte  Temple. 


"  Gracious  Heavens  !  "  cried  Char- 
lotte, "  is  Montraville  unjust  to  none  but 

me  ?" 

The  soldier  now  showed  her  Colonel 
Crayton's  door,  and  with  a  beating  heart 
she  knocked  for  admission. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

SUBJECT  CONTINUED. 

"When  the  door  was  opened,  Char- 
lotte, in  a  voice  rendered  scarcely  artic- 
ulate, through  cold  and  the  extreme  agi- 
tation of  her  mind,  demanded  whether 
Mrs.  Crayton  was  at  home. 

The  servant  hesitated;  he  knew  that 
his  lady  was  engaged  at  a  game  of  pic- 
quet  with  her  dear  Coryclon,  nor  could 
he  think  she  would  like  to  be  disturbed 
by  a  person  whose  appearance  spoke  of 


Charlotte  Temple.  229 


so  little  consequence  as  Charlotte;  yet 
there  was  something  in  her  countenance 
that  rather  interested  him  in  her  favor, 
and  he  said  his  lady  was  engaged;  but  if 
she  had  any  particular  message  he  would 
deliver  it. 

"  Take  up  this  letter/'  said  Charlotte, 
"  tell  her  the  unhappy  writer  of  it  waits 
in  the  hall  for  an  answer." 

The  tremulous  accent,  the  tearful  eye, 
must  have  moved  any  heart  not  com- 
posed of  adamant. 

The  man  took  the  letter  from  the  poor 
suppliant,  and  hastily  ascended  the  stair- 
case. 

"A  letter,  madam,"  said  he,  presenting 
it  to  his  lady ;  "  an  immediate  answer  is 
required." 

"  Mrs.  Crayton  glanced  her  eyes  care- 
lessly over  the  contents.  "  What  stuff 
is  this  ?  "  cried  she,  haughtily;  "  have  I 
not  told  you  a  thousand  times  that  I 
would  not  be  plagued  with  beggars  or 


230  Charlotte  Temple. 


petitions  from  people  one  knows  nothing 
about?  Go  tell  the  woman  I  can't  do 
anything  in  it.  I'm  sorry,  but  one  can't 
relieve  everybody." 

The  servant  bowed,  and  heavily  re^ 
turned  with  this  chilling  message  to 
Charlotte. 

"Surely,"  said  she,  "Mrs.  Crayton 
has  not  read  my  letter.  Go,  my  friend, 
pray,  go  back  to  her;  tell  her  it  is  Char- 
lotte Temple  who  requests  beneath  her 
hospitable  roof  to  find  shelter  from  the 
inclemency  of  the  season." 

"  Prithee,  don't  plague  me,  man," 
cried  Mrs.  Crayton,  impatiently,  as  the 
servant  advanced  something  in  behalf  of 
the  unhappy  girl.  "  I  tell  you  I  don't 
know  her." 

"  Not  know  me  !  "  cried  Charlotte, 
rushing  into  the  room  (for  she  had  fol- 
lowed the  man  up-stairs),  "  not  know  me 
— not  remember  the  injured  Charlotte 
Temple,  who,  but  for   you,  perhaps 


Charlotte  Temple.  231 


might  still  have  been  innocent,  still  have 
been  happy!  Oh,  La  Kue,  this  is  be- 
yond everything  I  conld  have  believed 
possible.'' 

"Upon. my  honor,  miss,"  replied  the 
unfeeling  woman  with  the  utmost 
effrontery,  "  this  is  a  most  unaccountable 
address — it  is  beyond  my  comprehen- 
sion. John,"  continued  she,  turning  to 
the  servant,  "  the  young  woman  is  cer- 
tainly out  of  her  senses ;  do  pray  take  her 
away,  she  terrifies  me  to  death." 

"  Oh,  God  !  "  cried  Charlotte,  clasp- 
ing her  hands  in  an  agony,  "  this  is  too 
much ;  what  will  become  of  me !  But  I 
will  not  leave  you,  they  shall  not  tear 
me  from  you;  here  on  my  knees  I  con- 
jure you  to  save  me  from  perishing  in 
the  street;  if  you  really  have  forgotten 
me,  O,  for  charity's  sweet  sake,  this 
night  let  me  be  sheltered  from  the  win- 
ter's piercing  cold." 

The  kneeling  figure  of  Charlotte,  in 


232 


Charlotte  Temple. 


her  affecting  situation,  might  have 
moved  the  heart  of  a  stone  to  compas- 
sion; but  Mrs.  Cray  ton  remained  in- 
flexible. 

In  vain  did  Charlotte  recount  the  time 
they  had  known  each  other  at  Chiches- 
ter; in  vain  mention  their  being  in  the 
same  ship;  in  vain  were  the  names  of 
Montraville  and  Belcour  mentioned. 

Mrs.  Crayton  could  only  say  she  was 
sorry  for  her  imprudence,  but  could  not 
think  of  having  her  own  reputation  en- 
dangered by  encouraging  a  woman  of 
that  kind  in  her  own  house;  besides,  she 
did  not  know  what  trouble  and  expense 
she  might  bring  upon  her  husband. by 
giving  shelter  to  a  woman  in  her  situa- 
tion. 

"  I  can  at  least  die  here,"  said  Char- 
lotte. "  I  feel  I  cannot  long  survive 
this  dreadful  conflict.  Father  of  mercy! 
here  let  me  finish  my  existence." 

Her  agonizing  sensations  overpowered 
her?  and  she  fell  senseless  on  the  floor. 


Charlotte  Temple.  233 


"  Take  her  away/'  said  Mrs.  Crayton; 
"  she  will  really  frighten  me  into  hys- 
terics; take  her  away,  I  say,  this  in- 
stant." 

"And  where  must  I  take  the  poor 
creature  ?  "  said  the  servant,  with  a  voice 
and  look  of  compassion. 

"Anywhere,"  cried  she,  hastily,  "  only 
don't  let  me  ever  see  her  again.  I  de- 
clare she  has  flurried  me  so,  I  sha'n't  be 
myself  again  this  fortnight." 

John5  assisted  by  his  fellow-servant, 
raised  and  carried  her  down-stairs. 

"  Poor  soul,"  said  he,  "  you  shall  not 
lie  in  the  street  this  night.  I  have  a  bed 
and  a  poor  little  hovel,  where  my  wife 
and  little  ones  rest  them;  but  they  shall 
watch  to-night  and  you  shall  be  shel- 
tered from  danger." 

They  placed  her  in  a  chair,  and  the 
benevolent  man,  assisted  by  one  of  his 
comrades,  carried  her  to  the  place  where 
his  wife  and  children  lived. 


234  Charlotte  Temple. 


A  surgeon  was  sent  for;  he  bled  her; 
she  gave  signs  of  returning  life,  and  be- 
fore dawn  she  gave  birth  to  a  female  in- 
fant. 

After  this  event,  she  lay  for  some 
hours  in  a  kind  of  stupor:  and,  if  at  any 
time  she  spoke,  it  was  with  a  quickness 
and  incoherence  that  plainly  evinced  the 
deprivation  of  reason. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

REASONS  WHY  AND  WHEREFORE. 

The  reader  of  sensibility  may  perhaps 
be  astonished  to  find  Mrs.  Crayton  could 
so  positively  deny  any  knowledge  of 
Charlotte;  it  is,  therefore,  but  just  that 
her  conduct  should  in  some  measure  be 
accounted  for. 

She  had  ever  been  fully  sensible  of  the 


Charlotte  Temple.  235 


superiority  of  Charlotte's  sense  and  vir- 
tue; she  was  conscious  that  she  never 
would  have  swerved  her  rectitude  had  it 
not  been  for  her  bad  precepts  and  worse 
example.  These  were  things  as  yet  un- 
'known  to  her  husband:  and  she  wished 
not  to  have  that  part  of  her  conduct  ex- 
posed to  him,  as  she  had  great  reason  to 
fear  she  had  already  lost  considerable 
part  of  that  power  she  once  maintained 
over  him. 

She  trembled  while  Charlotte  was  in 
the  house,  lest  the  colonel  should  return; 
she  perfectly  well  remembered  how 
much  he  seemed  interested  in  her  favor, 
while  on  their  passage  from  England, 
and  made  no  doubt  but,  should  he  see 
her  in  her  present  distress,  he  would  of- 
fer her  an  asylum,  and  protect  her  to  the 
utmost  of  his  power. 

In  that  case,  she  feared  the  unguard- 
ed nature  of  Charlotte  might  discover  to 
the  colonel  the  part  she  had  taken  in  the 


236  Charlotte  Temple. 


unhappy  girl's  elopement,  and  she  well 
knew  the  contrast  between  her  own  and 
Charlotte's  conduct,  would  make  the 
former  appear  in  no  very  respectable 
light. 

Had  she  reflected  properly,  she  would 
have  afforded  the  poor  girl  protection, 
and,  by  enjoining  her  silence,  insured 
it  by  acts  of  repeated  kindness,  but  vice 
in  general  blinds  its  votaries,  and  they 
discover  their  real  characters  to  the  world 
when  they  are  the  most  studious  to  pre- 
serve appearances. 

Just  so  it  happened  with  Mrs.  Cray- 
ton;  her  servants  made  no  scruple  of 
mentioning  the  cruel  conduct  of  their 
lady  to  a  poor  distressed  lunatic  who 
claimed  her  protection;  everyone  joined 
in  reprobating  her  inhumanity,  nay, 
even  Cory  don  thought  she  might  at  least 
have  ordered  her  to  be  taken  care  of,  but 
he  dared  not  even  hint  it  to  her,  for  he 
lived  but  in  her  smiles,  and  drew  from 


Charlotte  Temple. 


237 


her  lavish  fondness  large  sums  to  sup- 
port an  extravagance  to  which  the  state 
of  his  own  finances  were  very  inade- 
quate. It  cannot  therefore  be  supposed 
that  he  wished  Mrs.  Crayton  to  be  very 
liberal  in  her  bounty  to  the  afflicted 
suppliant.  Yet  vice  had  not  so  entirely 
seared  over  his  heart  but  the  sorrows  of 
Charlotte  could  find  a  vulnerable  part. 

Charlotte  had  now  been  three  days 
with  her  humane  preservers,  but  she  was 
totally  insensible  of  everything;  she 
raved  incessantly  for  Montraville  and 
her  father;  she  was  not  conscious  of  be- 
ing a  mother,  nor  took  the  least  notice 
of  her  child,  except  to  ask  whose  it  was, 
and  why  it  was  not  carried  to  its  par- 
ents. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  she  one  day,  starting  up 
on  hearing  the  infant  cry,  "  why  will 
you  keep  that  child  here?  I  am  sure 
you  wTould  not  if  you  knew  how  hard  it 
was  for  a  mother  to  be  parted  from  her 


238  Charlotte  Temple. 


infant;  it  is  like  tearing  the  cords  of  life 
asunder. 

"  Oh  !  could  you  see  the  horrid  sight 
I  now  behold — there — there  stands  my 
dear  mother,  her  poor  bosom  bleeding  at 
every  vein ;  her  gentle,  affectionate  heart 
torn  in  a  thousand  pieces,  and  all  for  the 
loss  of  a  ruined,  ungrateful  child. 

"  Save  me — save  me — from  her 
frown!  I  dare  not — indeed  I  dare  not 
speak  to  her  !  " 

Such  were  the  dreadful  images  that 
haunted  her  distracted  mind,  and  nature 
was  sinking  fast  under  the  dreadful  mal- 
ady which  medicine  had  no  power  to  re- 
move. 

The  surgeon  who  attended  her'  was  a 
humane  man,  who  exerted  his  utmost 
abilities  to  save  her;  but  he  saw  she  was 
in  want  of  many  necessaries  and  com- 
forts which  the  poverty  of  her  hospitable 
hosts  rendered  them  unable  to  provide: 
he  therefore  determined  to  make  her  sit- 


Charlotte  Temple.  239 


uation  known  to  some  of  the  officers, 
ladies,  and  endeavor  to  make  a  collection 
for  her  relief. 

When  he  returned  home  after  making 
this  resolution,  he  found  a  message  from 
Mrs.  Beauchamp,  who  had  just  arrived 
from  Rhode  Island,  requesting  he  would 
call  and  see  one  of  her  children,  who  was 
very  unwell. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  he,  as  he  was 
hastening  to  obey  the  summons,  "  I  do 
not  know  a  woman  to  whom  I  could  ap- 
ply with  more  hope  of  success  than  Mrs. 
Beauchamp.  I  will  endeavor  to  inter- 
est her  in  this  poor  girl's  behalf;  she 
wants  the  soothing  balm  of  friendly  con- 
solation; we  may  perhaps  save  her;  we 
will  try,  at  least." 

"And  where  is  she?  "  cried  Mrs.  Beau- 
champ, when  he  prescribed  something 
for  the  child,  and  told  his  little  pathetic 
tale,  "  where  is  she,  sir?  we  will  go  to  her 
immediately.     Heaven  forbid  that  I 


240  Charlotte  Temple. 


should  be  deaf  to  the  calls  of  humanity. 
Come,  we  will  go  this  instant/' 

Then  seizing  the  doctor's  arm,  they 
sought  the  habitation  of  the  dying  Char- 
lotte. 


CHAPTEE  XXXIII. 

WHICH  PEOPLE  VOID  OF  FEELING  NEED 
NOT  READ. 

When  Mrs.  Beauchamp  entered  the 
apartment  of  the  poor  sufferer,  she 
started  back  in  horror.  On  a  wretched 
bed,  without  hangings  and  poorly  sup- 
plied with  covering,  lay  the  emaciated 
figure  of  what  still  retained  the  sem- 
blance of  a  lovely  woman,  though  sick- 
ness had  so  altered  her  features  that  Mrs. 
Beauchamp  had  not  the  least  recollection 
of  her  person. 


Charlotte  Temple.  241 


In  a  corner  of  a  room  stood  a  woman 
washing,  and  shivering  over  a  small  fire, 
two  healthy,  but  half-naked  children. 
The  infant  was  asleep  beside  its  mother, 
and  on  a  chair  by  the  bedside  stood  a 
porringer  and  wooden  spoon  containing 
a  little  gruel,  and  a  tea-cup  with  about 
two  spoonsful  of  wine  in  it. 

Mrs.  Beauchamp  had  never  before  be- 
held such  a  scene  of  poverty;  she  shud- 
dered involuntarily,  and  exclaiming, 
"  Heaven  preserve  us  !  "  leaned  on  the 
back  of  the  chair,  ready  to  sink  to  the 
earth. 

The  doctor  repented  having  so  pre- 
cipitately brought  her  into  his  affecting 
scene;  but  there  was  no  time  for  apol- 
ogies. 

Charlotte  caught  the  sound  of  her 
voice,  and  starting  almost  out  of  bed,  ex- 
claimed: 

"Angel  of  peace  and  mercy,  art  thou 
come  to  deliver  me?    Oh,  I  know  you 


242 


Charlotte  Temple. 


are,  for  whenever  you  were  near  me  I 
felt  eased  of  half  my  sorrows;  but  you 
don't  know  me,  nor  can  I,  with  all  the 
recollection  that  I  am  mistress  of,  remem- 
ber your  name  just  now ;  but  I  know  that 
benevolent  countenance  and  the  soft- 
ness of  that  voice,  which  has  so  often 
comforted  the  wretched  Charlotte." 

Mrs.  Beauchamp  had,  during  the  time 
Charlotte  was  speaking,  seated  herself  on 
the  bed;  and  taking  one  of  her  hands, 
she  looked  at  her  attentively,  and  at  the 
name  of  Charlotte  she  perfectly  con- 
ceived the  whole  affair.  A  faint  sick- 
ness came  over  her. 

"  Gracious  Heaven  !  "  said  she,  "  is 
this  possible  ?  "  and  bursting  into  tears, 
she  reclined  the  burning  head  of  Char- 
lotte on  her  own  bosom,  and  folding  her 
arms  about  her,  wept  over  her  in  silence. 

"  Oh,"  said  Charlotte,  "  you  are  very 
good  to  weep  thus  for  me;  it  is  a  long 
time  since  I  shed  a  tear  for  myself;  my 


Charlotte  Temple.  243 


head  and  heart  are  both  on  fire;  but  these 
tears  of  yours  seem  to  cool  and  refresh 
me. 

"  Oh,  now  I  remember  you  said  you 
would  send  a  letter  to  my  poor  father; 
do  you  think  he  ever  received  it  ?  or  per- 
haps you  may  have  brought  me  an  an- 
swer; why  don't  you  speak,  madam  ?  " 

"  Does  he  say  I  may  go  home?  Well, 
he  is  very  good;  I  shall  soon  be  ready." 

She  then  made  an  effort  to  get  out  of 
bed;  but  being  prevented,  her  frenzy 
again  returned,  and  she  raved  with  the 
greatest  wildness  and  incoherence. 

Mrs.  Beauchamp,  finding  it  was  im- 
possible for  her  to  be  removed,  contented 
herself  with  ordering  the  apartment  to 
be  made  more  comfortable,  and  procur- 
ing a  proper  nurse  for  both  mother  and 
child;  and  having  learned  the  particu- 
lars of  Charlotte's  fruitless  application 
to  Mrs.  Crayton  from  honest  John,  she 
amply  rewarded  him  for  his  benevolence, 


244  Charlotte  Temple. 


and  returned  home  with  a  heart  op- 
pressed with  many  painful  sensations, 
but  yet  rendered  easy  by  the  reflection 
that  she  had  performed  her  duty  towards 
a  distressed  fellow-creature. 

Early  next  morning  she  again  visited 
Charlotte,  and  found  her  tolerably  com- 
posed; she  called  her  by  name,  thanked 
her  for  her  goodness,  and  when  her  child 
was  brought  to  her,  pressed  it  in  her 
arms,  wept  over  it,  and  called  it  the  off- 
spring of  disobedience. 

Mrs.  Beauchamp  was  delighted  to  see 
her  so  much  amended,  and  began  to  hope 
she  might  recover,  and  in  spite  of  her 
former  errors,  become  a  useful  and  re- 
spectable member  of  society;  but  the  ar- 
rival of  the  doctor  put  an  end  to  these 
delusive  hopes;  he  said  nature  was  mak- 
ing her  last  effort,  and  a  few  hours  would 
most  probably  consign  the  unhappy  girl 
to  her  kindred  dust. 

Being  asked  how  she  found  herself, 
she  replied: 


Charlotte  Temple. 


245 


"  Why,  better,  much  better,  doctor.  X 
hope  now  I  have  but  little  more  to  suffer. 
I  had  last  night  a  few  hours'  sleep, 
and  when  I  awoke  recovered  the  whole 
power  of  recollection.  I  am  quite  sen- 
sible of  my  weakness;  I  feel  I  have  but 
little  longer  to  combat  with  the  shafts  of 
affliction.  I  have  an  humble  confidence 
in  the  mercy  of  Him  who  died  to  save 
the  world,  and  trust  that  my  sufferings 
in  this  state  of  mortality,  joined  to  my 
unfeigned  repentance,  through  His 
mercy,  have  blotted  my  offences  from 
the  sight  of  my  offended  Maker.  I  have 
but  one  care — my  poor  infant!  Father 
of  mercy  !  "  continued  she,  raising  her 
eyes,  "  of  thy  infinite  goodness,  grant 
that  the  sins  of  the  parent  be  not  visited 
on  the  unoffending  child.  May  those 
who  taught  me  to  despise  Thy  laws  be 
forgiven;  lay  not  my  offences  to  their 
charge  I  beseech  Thee;  and  oh!  shower 
the  choicest  of  Thy  blessings  on  those 


246 


Charlotte  Temple. 


.whose  pity  has  soothed  the  afflicted 
heart,  and  made  easy  even  the  bed  of 
pain  and  sickness." 

She  was  exhausted  by  this  fervent  ad- 
dress to  the  throne  of  mercy,  and  though 
her  lips  still  moved,  her  voice  became 
inarticulate;  she  lay  for  some  time,  as  it 
were,  in  a  doze,  and  then  recovering, 
faintly  pressed  Mrs.  Beauchamp's  hand, 
and  then  requested  that  a  clergyman 
might  be  sent  for. 

On  his  arrival,  she  joined  fervently  in 
the  pious  office,  frequently  mentioning 
her  ingratitude  to  her  parents  as  what 
lay  most  heavy  at  her  heart. 

When  she  had  performed  the  last 
solemn  duty,  and  was  preparing  to  lie 
down,  a  little  bustle  outside  the  door  oc- 
casioned Mrs.  Beauchamp  to  open  it  and 
inquire  the  cause. 

A  man,  in  appearance  about  forty, 
presented  himself,  and  asked  for  Mrs. 
Beauchamp. 


Charlotte  Temple.  247 


"  That  is  my  name,  sir/'  said  she. 

"  Oh,  then,  my  dear  madam,"  cried 
he,  "  tell  me  where  I  may  find  my  poor, 
ruined,  but  repentant  child." 

Mrs.  Beauchamp  was  surprised  and 
much  affected;  she  knew  not  what  to 
say;  she  foresaw  the  agony  this  interview 
would  occasion  Mr.  Temple,  who  had 
just  arrived  in  search  of  Charlotte,  and 
yet  was  sensible  that  the  pardon  and 
blessing  of  the  father  would  soften  even 
the  agonies  of  death  to  the  daughter. 

She  hesitated. 

"  Tell  me,  madam,"  cried  he,  wildly, 
"tell  me,  I  beseech  thee,  does  she  live? 
Shall  I  see  my  darling  once  again?  Per- 
haps she  is  in  this  house.  Lead — lead 
me  to  her,  that  I  may  bless  her,  and  then 
lie  down  and  die." 

The  ardent  manner  in  which  he  ut- 
tered these  words  occasioned  him  to  raiso 
his  voice. 

It  caught  the  ear  of  Charlotte;  she 


248  Charlotte  Temple. 


knew  the  beloved  sound,  and  uttering  a 
loud  shriek,  she  sprang  forward  as  Mr. 
Temple  entered  the  room. 

"  My  adored  father  !  " 

«  My  long  lost  child  !  " 

Mature  could  support  no  more,  and 
they  both  sank  lifeless  into  the  arms  of 
the  attendants. 

Charlotte  was  again  put  into  bed,  and 
a  few  moments  restored  Mr.  Temple ;  but 
to  describe  the  agonies  of  his  sufferings 
is  past  the  power  of  any  one.  Though 
we  can  readily  conceive,  we  cannot  de- 
lineate the  dreadful  scene. 

Every  eye  gave  testimony  of  what 
each  other  felt — but  all  were  silent. 

When  Charlotte  recovered,  she  found 
herself  supported  in  her  father's  arms. 

She  cast  upon  him  a  most  impressive 
look,  but  was  unable  to  speak. 

A  reviving  cordial  was  administered. 

She  then  asked  in  a  low  voice  for  her 
child. 


Charlotte  Temple.  249 


It  was  brought  to  her;  she  put  it  in 
her  father's  arms. 

"Protect  her,"  said  she,  "and  bless 
your  dying  " 

Unable  to  finish  the  sentence,  she  sunk 
back  on  her  pillow;  her  countenance  was 
serenely  composed;  she  regarded  her 
father  as  he  pressed  the  infant  to  his 
breast,  with  a  steadfast  look;  a  sudden 
beam  of  joy  passed  across  her  languid 
features:  she  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven — 
and  then  closed  them  forever. 


CHAPTEK  XXXIY. 

RETRIBUTION. 

In  the  meantime,  Montraville  had  re- 
ceived orders  to  return  to  Xew  York,  ar- 
rived, and  having  some  feeling  of  com- 
passionate tenderness  for  the  woman 


250  Charlotte  Temple. 


whom  he  regarded  as  brought  to  shame 
by  himself  he  went  in  search  of  Belcour, 
to  inquire  whether  she  was  safe,  and 
whether  the  child  lived. 

He  found  him  immersed  in  dissipa- 
tion, and  could  gain  no  other  intelli- 
gence than  that  Charlotte  had  left  him, 
and  that  he  knew  not  what  had  become 
of  her. 

"  I  cannot  believe  it  possible/'  said 
Montraville,  "  that  a  mind  once  so  pure 
as  Charlotte  Temple's  should  .so  sudden- 
ly become  the  mansion  of  vice.  Be- 
ware, Belcour,"  continued  he,  "  beware 
if  you  have  dared  to  behave  either  un- 
justly or  dishonorably  to  that  poor  girl, 
your  life  shall  pay  the  forfeit;  I  will 
avenge  her  cause." 

He  immediately  went  into  the  coun- 
try, to  the  house  where  he  had  left  Char- 
lotte.   It  was  desolate. 

After  much  inquiry  he  at  length 
found  the  servant  girl  who  had  lived 
with  her. 


Charlotte  Temple.  251 


From  her  he  learned  the  misery  Char- 
lotte had  endured  from  the  complicated 
evils  of  illness,  poverty,  and  a  broken 
heart,  and  that  she  had  set  out  for  "New 
York  on  a  cold  winter's  evening;  but  she 
could  inform  him  no  further. 

Tortured  almost  to  madness  by  this 
shocking  account,  he  returned  to  the 
city,  but  before  he  reached  it,  the  even- 
ing was  drawing  to  a  close. 

In  entering  the  town,  he  was  obliged 
to  pass  several  little  huts,  the  residences 
of  poor  women,  who  supported  them- 
selves by  washing  the  clothes  of  the 
officers  and  soldiers. 

It  was  nearly  dark;  he  heard  from  a 
neighboring  steeple  a  solemn  toll  that 
seemed  to  say,  some  poor  mortal  was  go- 
ing to  their  last  mansion;  the  sound 
struck  on  the  heart  of  Montraville,  and 
he  involuntarily  stopped,  when  from  one 
of  the  houses  he  saw  the  appearance  of  a 
funeral. 


252  Charlotte  Temple. 


Almost  unknowing  what  he  did,  he 
followed  at  a  small  distance;  and  as  they 
let  the  coffin  into  the  grave,  he  inquired 
of  a  soldier,  who  stood  by,  and  had  just 
wiped  off  a  tear  that  did  honor  to  his 
heart,  who  it  was  that  was  just  buried. 

"An'  please  your  honor,"  said  the 
man,  "  'tis  a  poor  girl  that  was  brought 
from  her  friends  by  a  cruel  man,  who 
left  her  when  she  was  big  with  a  child7 
and  married  another." 

Montraville  stood  motionless,  and  the 
man  proceeded. 

"  I  met  her  myself,  not  a  fortnight 
since,  one  night,  all  cold  and  wet  in  the 
street;  she  went  to  Madam  Crayton's, 
but  she  would  not  take  her  in  and  so  the 
poor  thing  went  raving  mad." 

Montraville  could  bear  no  more;  he 
struck  his  hands  against  his  forehead 
with  violence,  and  exclaiming,  "  poor 
murdered  Charlotte  !  "  ran  with  pre- 
cipitation towards  the  place  where  they 
were  heaping  the  earth  on  her  remains. 


Charlotte  Temple. 


253 


"Hold — hold!  one  moment/'  said  he, 
"  close  not  the  grave  of  the  injured  Char- 
lotte Temple,  till  I  have  taken  ven- 
geance on  her  murderer." 

"  Rash  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Temple, 
"  who  art  thou  that  thus  disturbest  the 
last  mournful  rites  of  the  dead,  and 
rudely  breakest  in  upon  the  grief  of  an 
afflicted  father  ?  " 

"  If  thou  art  the  father  of  Charlotte 
Temple,"  said  he,  gazing  at  him  with 
mingled  horror  and  amazement — "  if 
thou  art  her  father — I  am  Montraville." 

Then,  falling  on  his  knees,  he  con- 
tinued: "Here  is  my  bosom.  I  bare  it 
to  receive  the  stroke  I  merit.  Strike — 
strike  now,  and  save  me  from  the  misery 
of  reflection." 

"Alas  !•"  said  Mr.  Temple,  "if  thou 
wert  the  seducer  of  my  child,  thy  own 
reflections  be  thy  punishment.  I  wrest 
not  the  power  from  the  hand  of  Om- 
nipotence.   Look  on  that  little  heap  of 


254  Charlotte  Temple. 

earth;  there  hast  thou  buried  the  only 
joy  of  a  fond  father.  Look  at  it  often; 
and  may  thy  heart  feel  such  sorrow  as 
shall  merit  the  mercy  of  Heaven. " 

He  turned  from  him,  and  Montra- 
ville, starting  up  from  the  ground  where 
he  had  thrown  himself,  and  that  instant 
remembering  the  perfidy  of  Belcour, 
flew  like  lightning  to  his  lodgings.  Bel- 
cour was  intoxicated;  Montraville  im- 
petuous; they  fought,  and  the  sword  of 
the  latter  entered  the  heart  of  his  ad- 
versary. 

He  fell,  and  expired  almost  instantly. 
Montraville  had  received  a  slight  wound, 
and,  overcome  with  the  agitation  of  his 
mind,  and  loss  of  blood,  was  carried  in  a 
state  of  insensibility  to  his  distracted 
wife. 

A  dangerous  illness  and  obstinate  de- 
lirium ensued,  during  which  he  raved 
incessantly  for  Charlotte,  but  a  strong 


Charlotte  Temple. 


255 


constitution,  and  the  tender  assiduities 
of  Julia,  in  time  overcame  the  disorder. 

He  recovered,  but  to  the  end  of  his 
life  was  subject  to  severe  fits  of  melan- 
choly, and  while  he  remained  in  Xew 
York,  frequently  retired  to  the  church- 
yard, where  he  wept  over  the  grave,  and 
regretted  the  untimely  fate  of  the  lovely 
Charlotte  Temple. 


CHAPTEE  XXXV. 

CONCLUSION. 

Shortly  after  the  interment  of  his 
daughter,  Mr.  Temple,  with  his  dear  lit- 
tle charge  and  her  nurse,  set  forward  for 
England. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  do  justice  to 
the  meeting-scene  between  him  and  his 
Lucy,  and  her    aged    father.  Every 


256  Charlotte  Temple. 


heart  of  sensibility  can  easily  conceive 
their  feelings. 

After  the  first  tumult  of  grief  was 
subsided,  Mrs.  Temple  gave  up  the  chief 
of  her  time  to  her  grandchild,  and  as  she 
grew  up  and  improved,  began  almost  to 
fancy  she  again  possessed  her  Charlotte. 

It  was  about  ten  years  after  these 
painful  events,  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tem- 
ple, having  buried  their  father,  were 
obliged  to  come  to  London  on  particular 
business,  and  brought  the  little  Lucy 
with  them. 

They  had  been  walking  one  evening, 
when,  on  their  return  they  found  a  poor 
wretch  sitting  on  the  steps  of  the  door. 

She  attempted  to  rise  as  they  ap- 
proached, but  from  extreme  weakness 
was  unable,  and  after  several  fruitless 
efforts,  fell  back  in  a  fit. 

Mr.  Temple  was  not  one  of  those  men 
who  stand  to  consider  whether  by  assist- 
ing an  object  of  distress  they  shall  not 


Charlotte  Temple. 


257 


inconvenience  themselves,  but,  instigated 
by  a  noble,  feeling  heart,  immediately 
ordered  her  to  be  carried  into  the  house 
and  proper  restoratives  applied. 

She  soon  recovered,  and  fixing  her  eye 
on  Mrs.  Temple,  cried: 

"  You  know  not,  madam,  what  you 
do;  you  know  not  whom  you  are  reliev- 
ing, or  you  would  curse  me  in  the  bitter- 
ness of  your  heart.  Come  not  near  me, 
madam,  I  shall  contaminate  you.  I  am 
the  viper  that  stung  your  peace.  I  am 
the  woman  who  turned  the  poor  Char- 
lotte out  to  perish  in  the  street.  Heaven 
have  mercy!  I  see  her  now,'  continued 
she,  looking  at  Lucy ;  "  such — such  was 
the  fair  bud  of  innocence  that  my  vile 
arts  blasted  ere  it  was  half  blown." 

It  was  in  vain  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tem- 
ple entreated  her  to  be  composed  and 
take  some  refreshment. 

She  only  drank  half  a  glass  of  wine, 
and  then  told  them  she  had  been  sepa- 


258 


Charlotte  Temple. 


rated  from  her  husband  seven  years,  the 
chief  of  which  she  passed  in  riot,  dissi- 
pation and  vice,  till,  overtaken  by  pov- 
erty and  sickness,  she  had  been  reduced 
to  part  with  every  valuable,  and  thought 
only  of  ending  her  life  in  prison,  when 
a  benevolent  friend  paid  her  debts  and 
released  her;  but  that,  her  illness  in- 
creasing, she  had  no  possible  means  of 
supporting  herself,  and  her  friends  were 
weary  of  relieving  her.  "  I  have  fasted, " 
said  she,  "  two  days,  and  last  night  laid 
my  aching  head  on  the  cold  pavement; 
indeed,  indeed,  it  was  but  just  that  I 
should  experience  those  miseries  myself, 
which  I  unfeelingly  inflicted  on  others." 

Greatly  as  Mr.  Temple  had  reason  to 
detest  Mrs.  Crayton,  he  could  not  be- 
hold her  in  this  distress  without  some 
emotions  of  pity. 

He  gave  her  shelter  that  night  be- 
neath his  hospitable  roof,  and  the  next 
day  got  her  admission  into  a  hospital, 


Charlotte  Temple. 


259 


where,  having  lingered  a  few  weeks,  she 
died,  a  striking  example  that  vice,  how- 
ever prosperous  in  the  beginning,  in  the 
end  leads  on  to  misery  and  shame. 


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Andersen.    With  77  illustrations. 

The  spirit  of  high  moral  teaching,  and  the  deli- 
cacy of  sentiment,  feeling,  and  expression  that  per- 
vade these  tales  make  these  wonderful  creations  . 
not  only  attractive  to  the  young,  but  equally  ac- 
ceptable to  those  of  mature  years,  who  are  able 
to  understand  their  real  significance  and  appre- 
ciate the  depth  of  their  meaning. 

GRANDFATHER'S  CHAIR;  A  HISTORY  FOR 
Y^OUTH.  By  Nathaniel  Hawthorne.  With  60  il- 
lustrations. 

The  story  of  America  from  the  landing  of  the 
Puritans  to  the  acknowledgment  without  reserve 
of  the  Independence  of  the  United  States,  told 
with  all  the  elegance,  simplicity,  grace,  clearness 
and  force  for  which  Hawthorne  is  conspicuously 
noted. 

AUNT  MARTHA'S  CORNER  CUPBOARD,  by  Mary 
and  Elizabeth  Kirby,  with  60  illustrations.  Stor- 
ies about  Tea,  Coffee,  Sugar,  Rice  and  Chinaware, 
and  other  accessories  of  the  well-kept  Cupboard. 
A  book  full  of  interest  for  all  the  girls  and  many 
of  the  boys. 

BATTLES  OF  THE  WAR  FOR  INDEPENDENCE, 
by  Prescott  Holmes,  with  70  illustrations.  A 
graphic  and  full  history  of  the  Rebellion  of  the 
American  Colonies  from  the  yoke  and  oppression 
of  England,  with  the  causes  that  led  thereto,  and 
including  an  account  of  the  second  war  with  Great 
Britain,  and  the  War  with  Mexico. 

BATTLES  OF  THE  WAR  FOR  THE  UNION,  by  Pres- 
cott Holmes,  with  80  illustrations.  A  correct  and 
impartial  account  of  the  greatest  civil  war  in  the 
annals  of  history.  Both  of  these  histories  of 
American  wars  are  a  necessary  part  of  the  educa- 
tion of  all  intelligent  American  boys  and  girls. 
8 


HENRY  ALTEMUS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


ALTEMUS'  KIPLING  SERIES. 

Embracing  the  best  known  tales  and  stories  of  this 
popular  writer.  Presented  in  attractive  handy  volume 
size,  and  adapted  for  leisure  moment  reading.  Large 
type,  superior  paper  and  attractive  binding.  Cloth,  35 
cents. 

1.  THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

2.  THE  MAN  WHO  WAS. 

3.  WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF  CLERGY. 

4.  RECRUDESCENCE  OF  IMRAY. 

5.  ON  GREENHOW  HILL. 

6.  WEE  WILLIE  WINKIE. 

7.  THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING. 

8.  MY  OWN  TRUE  GHOST  STORY. 

9.  THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH  SHADD. 

10.  THE    INCARNATION    OF    KRISHNA  MUL- 

VANEY. 

11.  HIS  MAJESTY  THE  KING. 

12.  WITH  THE  MAIN  GUARD. 

13.  THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS. 

14.  LISPETH. 

15.  CUPID'S  ARROWS. 

16.  IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDHOO. 

17.  THE  BRONCKHORST  DIVORCE-CASE. 

18.  THE  JUDGMENT  OF  DUNGARA. 

19.  GEMINI. 

20.  AT  T WENT Y-T WT0 . 

21.  ON  THE  CITY  WALL. 


ALTEMUS'  ILLUSTRATED  ONE  SYLLABLE 
SERIES  FOR  YOUNG  READEARS. 


Embracing  popular  works  arranged  for  the  young  folks 
in  words  of  one  syllable. 

Printed  from  extra  large  clear  type  on  fine  enamelled 
paper  and  fully  illustrated  by  famous  artists.  The  hand- 
somest line  of  books  for  voung  children  before  the  pub- 
lic. 

Fine  English  cloth;  handsome,  new,  original  designs, 
50  cents. 


1.  JESOP'S  FABLES.    62  illustrations. 

2.  A  CHILD'S  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.   49  illujtrations. 

9 


HENRY   ALTEMUS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


One  Syllable  Series— Continued. 

3.  A  CHILD'S  STORY  OF  THE  BIBLE.   72  illustra- 

tions. 

4.  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  ROBINSON  CRUSOE. 

70  illustrations. 

5.  BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS.   46  illustra- 

tions. 

6.  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBINSON.   50  illustrations. 

7.  GULLIVER'S  TRAVELS.   50  illustrations. 


HENRY  ALTEMUS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


ALTEMUS'  NEW  ILLUSTRATED  VADEMECUM 
SERIES. 

Masterpieces  of  English  and  American  literature, 
handy  volume  size,  large  type  editions.  Each  volume 
contains  illuminated  title  pa^es,  etched  portrait  of 
author  or  colored  frontispiece  and  numerous  engravings. 

Full  cloth,  ivory  finish,  ornamental  inlaid  sides  and 
back,  boxed,  40  cents. 


1.  ABBE  CONSTANTIN.— Halevy. 

2.  ADVENTURES  OF  A  BROWNIE.— Mulock. 

3.  ALICE'S  ADVENTURES  IN  WONDERLAND.— 

Carroll. 

4.  AMERICAN  NOTES.-Kipling. 

5.  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  BENJAMIN  FRANK- 

LIN. 

6.  AUTOCRAT  OF  THE  BREAKFAST  TABLE.— 
Holmes. 

11.  BAB  BALLALDS  AND  SAVOY  SONGS.— Gil- 

bert. 

12.  BACON'S  ESSAYS. 

13.  BALZAC'S  SHORTER  STORIES. 

14.  BARRACK-ROOM  BALLADS  AND  DITTIES.— 

Kipling. 

15.  BATTLE  OF  LIFE.-Dickens. 

16.  BIGLOW  PAPERS.— Lowell. 

17.  BLACK  BEAUTY.-Sewell. 

18.  BLITHEDALE  ROMANCE,  THE.— Hawthorne. 

19.  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL.— Irving. 

20.  BRYANT'S  POEMS. 

26.  CAMILLE— Dumas,  Jr. 

27.  CARMEN.— Merimee. 

10 


HENRY   ALTEMUS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


Vademecuin  Series— Continued. 

28.  CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE.— Rowson. 

29.  CHESTERFIELD'S     LETTERS,  SENTENCES 

AND  MAXIMS. 

30.  CHILD'S  GARDEN  OF  VERSES.— Stevenson. 

31.  CHILDE  HAROLD'S  PILGRIMAGE.— Byron. 

32.  CHIMES,  THE.— Dickens. 

33.  CHRISTIE'S  OLD  ORGAN.— Walton. 

34.  CHRISTMAS  CAROL,  A.— Dickens. 

35.  CONFESSIONS  OF  AN  OPIUM  EATER.— De 

Quincev. 

36.  CRANFORD.— Gaskell. 

37.  CRICKET  ON  THE  HEARTH.— Dickens. 

38.  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE,  THE.— Ruskin. 

43.  DAY  BREAKETH,  THE.— Shugert. 

44.  DAYS  WITH  SIR  ROGER  DE  COVERLY.-^ 

Addison. 

45.  DISCOURSES,  EPICTETUS. 

46.  DOG  OF  FLANDERS,  A.— Ouida. 

47.  DREAM  LIFE.— Mitchell. 

51.  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS,  FIRST  SERIES. 

52.  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS,  SECOND  SERIES. 

53.  ENDYMION— Keats. 

54.  ESSAYS  OF  ELIA.-Lamb. 

55.  ETHICS  OF  THE  DUST.— Ruskin. 

56.  EVANGELINE.— Longfellow. 

61.  FAIRY  LAND  OF  SCIENCE.-Buckley. 

62.  FANCHON.— Sand. 

63.  FOR  DAILY  BREAD.— Sienkiewicz. 

67.  GRAMMAR  OF  PALMISTRY.— St.  Hill. 

68.  GREEK  HEROES.— Kingsley. 

69.  GULLIVER'S  TRAVEL'S.— Swift. 

74.  HANIA.— Sienkiewicz. 

75.  HAUNTED  MAN,  THE.— Dickens. 

76.  HEROES  AND  HERO  WORSHIP.— Carlyle. 

77.  HIAWATHA,  THE  SONG  OF.— Longfellow. 

78.  HOLME'S  POEMS. 

79.  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES.— Hawthorne. 

80.  HOUSE  OF  THE  WOLF.— Weyman. 

81.  HYPERION.— Longfellow. 

87.  IDLE  THOUGHTS  OF  AN  IDLE  FELLOW.—* 

Jerome. 

88.  IDYLLS  OF  THE  KING.— Tennyson. 

89.  IMPREGNABLE  ROCK  OF  HOLY  SCRIPT- 
URE.—Gladstone. 

11 


HENRY   ALTEMUS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


Vadeinecuni  Series— Continued. 

90.  IN  BLACK  AND  WHITE.— Kipling. 

91.  IN  MEMORIAM.— Tennvson. 

96.  JESSICA'S  FIRST  PRAYER.— Stretton. 

97.  J.  COLE.— Gellibrand. 

101.  KAVANAGH.— Longfellow. 

102.  KIDNAPPED.— Stevenson. 

103.  KNICKERBOCKER'S    HISTORY    OF  NEW 

YORK.— Irving. 

197.  LA  BELLE  NIVERNAISE.— Daudet. 

108.  LADDIE  AND  MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 

109.  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.— Scott. 

110.  LALLA  ROOKH.— Moore. 

111.  LAST  ESSAYS  OF  ELIA.— Lamb. 

112.  LAYS  OF  ANCIENT  ROME,  THE. — Macaulay. 

113.  LET  US  FOLLOW  HIM.— Sienkiewicz. 

114.  LIGHT  OF  ASIA.— Arnold. 

115.  LIGHT  THAT  FAILED,  THE.— Kipling. 

116.  LITTLE  LAME  PRINCE.— Mulock. 

117.  LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS,  VOL.  I. 

118.  LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS,  VOL.  II. 

119.  LOWELL'S  POEMS. 

120.  LUCILE.-Meredith. 

126.  MAGIC  NUTS,  THE.— Molesworth. 

127.  MANON  LESCAUT.— Prevost. 

128.  MARMION.— Scott. 

129.  MASTER  OF  BALLANTRAE,  THE.— Stevenson 

130.  MILTON'S  POEMS. 

131.  MINE  OWN  PEOPLE.— Kipling. 

132.  MINISTER  OF  THE  WORLD.— Mason. 

133.  MOSSES  FROM  AN  OLD  MANSE.— Hawthorne 

134.  MULVANEY  STORIES.— Kipling. 

140.  NATURAL     LAW     IN     THE  SPIRITUAL 

WORLD.— Drummond. 

141.  NATURE,  ADDRESSES,  AND  LECTURES.— 

Emerson. 

145.  OLD  CHRISTMAS.— Irving. 

146.  OUTRE-MER.— Longfellow. 

150.  PARADISE  LOST.— Milton. 

151.  PARADISE  REGAINED.— Milton. 

152.  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.— Sainte  Pierre. 

153.  PETER  SCHLEMIHL.— Chamisso. 

154.  PHANTOM  RICKSHAW.— Kipling. 

155.  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS,  THE.— Bunyan. 

12 


HENRY   ALTEMUS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


Vademecum  Series— Continued. 

156.  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS— Kipling. 

157.  PLEASURES  OF  LIFE.— Lubbock. 

158.  PLUTARCH'S  LIVES. 

159.  POE'S  POEMS. 

160.  PRINCE  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  DAVID.— Ingra- 

ham. 

161.  PRINCESS  AND  MAUD. — Tennyson. 

162.  PRUE  AND  I.-Curtis. 

169.  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR.— Ruskin. 

172.  RAB  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. — Brown. 

173.  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN.— Emerson. 

174.  REVERIES  OF  A  BACHELOR.— Mitchell. 

175.  RIP  VAN  WINKLE.— Irving. 

176.  ROMANCE    OF   A   POOR    YOUNG  MAN.— 

Feuillet. 

177.  RUBAIYAT  OF  OMAR  KHAYYAM.— 

182.  SAMANTHA  AT  SARATOGA. -Holley. 

183.  SARTOR  RESARTUS.— Carlyle. 

184.  SCARLET  LETTER,  THE.— Hawthorne. 

185.  SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL.— Sheridan. 

186.  SENTIMENTAL  JOURNEY,  A.— Sterne. 

187.  SESAME  ANL  LILIES.— Ruskin. 

188.  SHAKSPEARE'S  HEROINES.— Jameson. 

189.  SHE  STOOPS  TO  CONQUER.— Goldsmith. 

190.  SILAS  MARNER.— Eliot. 

191.  SKETCH  BOOK,  THE.— Irving. 

192.  SNOW  IMAGE,  THE.— Hawthorne. 

199.  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPE ARE. —Lamb. 

200.  TANGLEWOOD  TALES.— Hawthorne. 

201.  TARTARIN  OF  TARASCON.— Daudet. 

202.  TARTARIN  ON  THE  ALPS.— Daudet. 

203.  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM.— Arthur. 

204.  THINGS  WILL  TAKE  A  TURN.-Harraden. 

205.  THOUGHTS.— MARCUS  AURELIUS. 

206.  THROUGH  THE  LOOKING  GLASS.— Carroll. 

207.  TOM  BROWN'S  SCHOOL  DAYS. -Hughes. 

208.  TREASURE  ISLAND.— Stevenson. 

209.  TWICE  TOLD  TALES.— Hawthorne. 

210.  TWO  YEARS  BEFORE  THE  MAST.— Dana. 

217.  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN.— Stowe. 

218.  UNDINE.— Fouque. 

i22.  VIC;   THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF  A  FOX- 
TERRIER.— Marsh. 

13 


HENRY  ALTEMUS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


Vademecum  Series— Continued. 

223.  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.— Goldsmith. 

226.  WALDEN.— Thoreau. 

227.  WATER  BABIES. — Kingsley. 

228.  WEIRD  TALES.— Poe. 

229.  WHAT  IS  ART?— Tolstoi. 

230.  WHITTIER'S  POEMS,  VOL.  I. 

231.  WHITTIER'S  POEMS,  VOL.  II. 

232.  WINDOW  IN  THRUMS.— Barrie. 

233.  WOMAN'S  WORK  IN  THE  HOME.— Farrar. 

234.  WONDER  BOOK,  A. — Hawthorne. 

241.  YELLOWPLUSH  PAPERS,  THE.-Thackeray 

244.  ZOE.— By  author  of  "  Laddie,"  etc. 


ALTEMUS'  ILLUSTRATED  DEVOTIONAL 
SERIES. 

Full  White  Vellum,  handsome  new  mosaic  design  in 
gold  and  colors,  gold  edges,  Boxed,  50  cents. 

1.  ABIDE  IN  CHRIST.— Murray. 

2.  AT  THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 

3.  BEECHER'S  ADDRESSES. 

4.  BEST  THOUGHTS.— From  Henry  Drummond* 

5.  BIBLE  BIRTHDAY"  BOOK. 

6.  BROOKS'  ADDRESSES. 

7.  CHAMBER  OF  PEACE. 

8.  CHANGED  CROSS,  THE. 

9.  CHRISTIAN  LIFE.— Oxenden. 

10.  CHRISTIAN  LIVING.— Meyer. 

11.  CHRISTIAN'S  SECRET  OF  A  HAPPY  LIFE. 

12.  CHRISTIE'S  OLD  ORGAN.— Walton. 

13.  COMING  TO  OHRIST.— Havergal. 

14.  DAILY  FOOD  FOR  CHRISTIANS. 

15.  DAY7  BREAKETH,  THE.— Shugert. 

16.  DAYS  OF  GRACE.— Murray. 

17.  DRUMMOND'S  ADDRESSES. 

18.  EVENING  THOUGHTS.— Havergal. 

19.  GOLD  DUST. 

20.  HOLY  IN  CHRIST.— Murray. 

21.  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST,  THE.— A'Kempis. 

22.  IMPREGNABLE  ROCK  OF  HOLY  SCRIPTURE. 

— Gladstone. 

14 


HENRY   ALTEMUS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


Devotional  Series— Continued. 

23.  JESSICA'S  FIRST  PRAYER.— Stretton. 

24.  JOHN  PLOUGHMAN'S  PICTURES.— Spurgeon. 

25.  JOHN  PLOUGHMAN'S  TALK.— Spurgeon. 

26.  KEPT  FOR  THE  MASTER'S  USE.— Havergal. 

27.  KEBLE'S  CHRISTIAN  YEAR. 

28.  LET  US  FOLLOW  HIM.— Sienkiewicz. 

29.  LIKE  CHRIST.— Murray. 

30.  LINE  UPON  LINE. 

31.  MANLINESS  OF  CHRIST,  THE.— Hughes. 

32.  MESSAGE  OF  PEACE,  THE.— Church. 

33.  MORNING  THOUGHTS.— Havergal. 

34.  MY  KING  AND  HIS  SERVICE.— Havergal. 

35.  NATURAL     LAW     IN     THE  SPIRITUAL 

WORLD. — Drummond. 

36.  PALACE  OF  THE  KING. 

37.  PATHWAY  OF  PROMISE. 

38.  PATHWAY  OF  SAFETY.-Oxenden. 

39.  PEEP  OF  DAY. 

40.  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS,  THE.— Bunyan. 

41.  PRECEPT  UPON  PRECEPT. 

42.  PRINCE  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  DAVID— Ingram 

ham. 

43.  SHADOW  OF  THE  ROCK. 

44.  SHEPHERD  PSALM.— Mever. 

45.  STEPS  INTO  THE  BLESSED  LIFE.— Meyer. 

46.  STEPPING  HEAVENWARD. — Prentiss. 

47.  THE  THRONE  OF  GRACE. 

48.  UNTO  THE  DESIRED  HAVEN. 

49.  UPLANDS  OF  GOD. 

50.  WITH  CHRIST.-Murray. 


15 


ALTEMUS'  EDITION  SHAKSPEARE  PLAYS. 

HANDY  VOLUME  SIZE. 

Limp  cloth  binding,  gold  top,  illuminated  title  and 
frontispiece,  35  cents. 


1.  ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 

2.  ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 

3.  A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

4.  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 

5.  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 

6.  CORIOLANUS. 

7.  CYMBELINE. 

8.  HAMLET. 

9.  JULPUS  CAESAR. 

10.  KING  HENRY  IV.    (Part  I). 

11.  KING  HENRY  IV.    (Part  II). 

12.  KING  HENRY  V. 

13.  KING  HENRY  VI.    (Part  I). 

14.  KING  HENRY  VI.    (Part  II). 

15.  KING  HENRY  VI.    (Part  III). 

16.  KING  HENRY  VIII. 

17.  KING  JOHN. 

18.  KING  LEAR. 

19.  KING  RICHARD  II. 

20.  KING  RICHARD  III. 

21.  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 
22  MACBETH. 

23*.   MEASURE' FOR  MEASURE. 

24.  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

25.  OTHELLO. 

26.  PERICLES. 

27.  ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 

28.  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

29.  THE  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 

30.  THE  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 

31.  THE  TEMPEST. 

32.  THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 

33.  THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 

34.  TIMON  QF  ATHENS. 

35.  TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 

36.  TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 

37.  TWELFTH  NIGHT. 

38.  VENUS  AND  ADONIS  AND  LUCRECE. 

39.  SONNETS,  PASSIONATE  PILGRIM,  ETC. 

16 


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